THE     COMPLETE    WORKS     OF 

F.    MARION     CRAWFORD 


In  Thirty-two  Volumes  ^  Authorized  Edition 


LOVE   IN   IDLENESS 

A  Tale  of  Bar  Harbor 


MARION   DARCHE 

A  Story  Without  Comment 


F.  MARION    CRAWFORD 


P.    F.    COLLIER    6-     SON 

NEW  YORK 


THE 

COMPLETE     WORKS      OF      F.      MARION      CRAWFORD 

I. 

Mr.   Isaacs 

XVII. 

The  Witch  of  Prague 

II. 

Doctor    Claudius 

XVIII. 

The  Three  Fates 

III. 

To   Leeward 

XIX. 

Taquisara 

IV. 

A   Roman   Singer 

XX. 

The  Children  of  the  King 

V. 

An   American   Politician 

XXI. 

Pietro  Ghisleri 

VI. 

Marzio's   Crucifix 

XXII. 

Katharine  Lauderdale 

Zoroaster 

XXIII. 

The   Ralstona 

VII. 

A  Tale  of  a  Lonely  Parish 

XXIV. 

Casa  Braccio  (Part  I) 

VIII. 

Paul  Patoff 

XXV. 

Casa  Braccio  (Part  II) 

IX. 

Love  in  Idleness:  A  Tale  of 
Bar    Harbor 

XXVI. 

Adam  Johnstone's  Son 

Marion   Darctoe 

A  Rose  of  Yesterday 

X. 

Saracinesca 

XXVII. 

Via  Crucis 

XI. 

Sant'   Ilario 

XXVIII. 

In  the  Palace  of  the  King 

XII. 

Don  Orsino 

XXIX. 

Marietta:  A  Maid  of  Ven- 

XIII. 

Corleone:   A   Sicilian   Story 

ice 

XIV. 

With  the  Immortals 

XXX. 

Cecilia:  A  Story  of  Mod 

ern   Rome 

XV. 

Greifenstein 

XVI. 

A  Cigarette-Maker's  Romance 

XXXI. 

The  Heart  of  Rome 

Khaled 

XXXII. 

Whosoever  Shall  Offend 

COPYRIGHT    1894 

COPYRIGHT    1893 

BY  F.  MARION  CRAWFORD 


All  Rights  Reserved 


urn,  : 


LOVE    IN    IDLENESS 


LOVE   IN   IDLENESS. 


CHAPTER    I. 

'M  going  to  stay  with  the  three  Miss 
Miners  at  the  Trehearnes'  place," 
said  Louis  Lawrence,  looking  down 
into  the  blue  water  as  he  leaned 
over  the  rail  of  the  Sappho,  on  the  sunny  side 
of  the  steamer.  "  They're  taking  care  of  Miss 
Trehearne  while  her  mother  is  away  at  Karlsbad 
with  Mr.  Trehearne,"  he  added,  in  further  ex- 
planation. 

"  Yes,"  answered  Professor  Knowles,  his  com- 
panion. "  Yes,"  he  repeated  vaguely,  a  moment 
later. 


LOVE   IN   IDLENESS. 


"  It's  fun  for  the  three  Miss  Miners,  having 
such  a  place  all  to  themselves  for  the  summer," 
continued  young  Lawrence.  "  It's  less  amusing 
for  Miss  Trehearne,  I  daresay.  I  suppose  I'm 


asked  to  enliven  things.     It  can't  be  exactly  gay 
in  their  establishment." 

"  I    don't    know    any  of  them,"   observed   the 
Professor,  who  was  a  Boston  man.     "  The  proba- 


LOVE   IN   IDLENESS.  3 

bility  is  that  I  never  shall.  Who  are  the  three 
Miss  Miners,  and  who  is  Miss  Trehearne  ?  " 

"  Oh  —  you  don't  know  them  !  "  Lawrence's 
voice  expressed  his  surprise  that  there  should 
be  any  one  who  did  not  know  the  ladies  in 
question.  "  Well  —  they're  three  old  maids,  you 
know." 

"  Excuse  me,  I  don't  know.  Old  maid  is  such 
a  vague  term.  How  old  must  a  maid  be,  to  be 
an  old  maid  ? " 

"  Oh  —  it  isn't  age  that  makes  old  maids. 
It's  the  absence  of  youth.  They're  born  so." 

"  A  pleasing  paradox,"  remarked  the  Professor, 
his  exaggerated  jaw  seeming  to  check  the  uneasy 
smile,  as  it  attacked  the  gravity  of  his  colourless 
thin  lips. 

His  head,  in  the  full  face  view,  was  not  too 
large  for  his  body,  which,  in  the  two  dimensions 
of  length  and  breadth,  was  well  proportioned. 
The  absence  of  the  third  dimension,  that  is,  of 
bodily  thickness,  was  very  apparent  when  he 
was  seen  sideways,  while  the  exaggeration  of 
the  skull  was  also  noticeable  only  in  profile. 
The  forehead  and  the  long  delicate  jaw  were 


4  LOVE  IN   IDLENESS. 

unnaturally  prominent;  the  ear  was  set  much 
too  far  back,  and  there  was  no  develop- 
ment over  the  eyes,  while  the  nose  was  small, 
thin,  and  sharp,  as  though  cut  out  of  letter 
paper. 

"  It's  not  a  paradox,"  said  Lawrence,  whose 
respect  for  professorial  statements  was  small. 
"  The  three  Miss  Miners  were  old  maids  before 
they  were  born.  They're  not  particularly  old, 
except  Cordelia.  She  must  be  over  forty. 
Augusta  is  the  youngest  —  about  thirty-two,  I 
should  think.  Then  there's  the  middle  one  — 
she's  Elizabeth,  you  know  —  she's  no  particular 
age.  Cordelia  must  have  been  pretty  —  in  a 
former  state.  Lots  of  brown  hair  and  beautiful 
teeth.  But  she  has  the  religious  smile  —  what 
they  put  on  when  they  sing  hymns,  don't  you 
know  ?  It's  chronic.  Good  teeth  and  resigna- 
tion did  it.  She's  good  all  through,  but  you 
get  all  through  her  so  soon !  Elizabeth's  clever 
—  comparatively.  She's  brown,  and  round,  and 
fat,  and  ugly.  I'd  like  to  paint  her  portrait. 
She's  really  by  far  the  most  attractive.  As  for 
Augusta  —  " 


LOVE  IN   IDLENESS.  5 

"  Well  ?  What  about  Augusta  ?  "  enquired 
the  Professor,  as  Lawrence  paused. 

"  Oh  —  she's  awful !  She's  the  accomplished 
one." 

"  I  thought  you  said  that  the  middle  one  — 
what's  her  name  ?  —  was  the  cleverest." 

"  Yes,  but  cleverness  never  goes  with  what 
they  call  accomplishments,"  answered  the  young 
man.  "  I've  heard  of  great  men  playing  the 
flute,  but  I  never  heard  of  anybody  who  was 
'  musical '  and  came  to  anything  —  especially 
women.  Fancy  Cleopatra  playing  the  piano  — 
or  Catherine  the  Great  painting  a  salad  of  wild 
flowers  on  a  fan !  Can  you  ?  Or  Semiramis 
sketching  a  lap  dog  on  a  cushion ! " 

"  What  very  strange  ideas  you  have ! "  ob- 
served the  Professor,  gravely. 

Lawrence  did  not  say  anything  in  reply,  but 
looked  out  over  the  blue  water  at  the  dark  green 
islands  or  the  deep  bay  as  the  Sappho  paddled 
along,  beating  up  a  wake  of  egg-white  froth.  He 
was  glad  that  Professor  Knowles  was  going  over 
to  the  other  side  to  dwell  amongst  the  placid 
inhabitants  of  North  East  Harbour,  where  the 


6  LOVE  IN  IDLENESS. 

joke  dieth  not,  even  at  an  advanced  age ;  where 
there  are  people  who  believe  in  Ruskin  and 
swear  by  Herbert  Spencer,  who  coin  words  end- 
ing in  '  ism,'  and  intellectually  subsist  on  the 
'  ologies  '  —  with  the  notable  exception  of  the- 
ology. Lawrence  had  once  sat  at  the  Professor's 
feet,  at  Harvard,  unwillingly,  indeed,  but  not 
without  indirect  profit.  They  had  met  to-day  in 
the  train,  and  it  was  not  probable  that  they 
should  meet  again  in  the  course  of  the  summer, 
unless  they  particularly  sought  one  another's 
society. 

They  had  nothing  in  common.  Lawrence  was 
an  artist,  or  intended  to  be  one,  and  had  recently 
returned  from  abroad,  after  spending  three  years 
in  Paris.  By  parentage  he  belonged  to  New 
York.  He  had  been  christened  Louis  because 
his  mother  was  of  French  extraction  and  had  an 
uncle  of  that  name,  who  might  be  expected  to  do 
something  handsome  for  her  son.  Louis  Law- 
rence was  now  about  five  and  twenty  years  of 
age,  was  possessed  of  considerable  talent,  and  of 
no  particular  worldly  goods.  His  most  impor- 
tant and  valuable  possession,  indeed,  was  his 


LOVE   IN   IDLENESS.     -  7 

character,  which  showed  itself  in  all  he  said  and 
did. 

There  is  something  problematic  about  the 
existence  of  a  young  artist  who  is  in  earnest, 
which  alone  is  an  attraction  in  the  eyes  of 
women.  The  odds  are  ten  to  one,  of  course, 
that  he  will  never  accomplish  anything  above 
the  average,  but  that  one-tenth  chance  is  not  to 
be  despised,  for  it  is  the  possibility  of  a  well- 
earned  celebrity,  perhaps  of  greatness.  The  one 
last  step,  out  of  obscurity  into  fame,  is  generally 
the  only  one  of  which  the  public  knows  anything, 
sees  anything,  or  understands  anything ;  and  no 
one  can  tell  when,  if  ever,  that  one  step  may  be 
taken.  There  is  a  constant  interest  in  expecting 
it,  and  in  knowing  of  its  possibility,  which  lends 
the  artist's  life  a  real  charm  in  his  own  eyes 
and  the  eyes  of  others.  And  very  often  it  turns 
out  that  the  charm  is  all  the  life  has  to  recom- 
mend it. 

The  young  man  who  had  just  given  Professor 
Knowles  an  account  of  his  hostesses  was  natu- 
rally inclined  to  be  communicative,  which  is  a 
weakness,  though  he  was  also  frank,  which  is 


8  -     LOVE  IN   IDLENESS. 

a  virtue.  He  was  a  very  slim  young  man,  and 
might  have  been  thought  to  be  in  delicate  health, 
for  he  was  pale  and  thin  in  the  face.  The  feat- 
ures were  long  and  finely  chiselled,  and  the 
complexion  was  decidedly  dark.  He  would  have 
looked  well  in  a  lace  ruffle,  with  flowing  curls. 
But  his  hair  was  short,  and  he  wore  rough  grey 
clothes  and  an  unobtrusive  tie.  The  highly 
arched  black  eyebrows  gave  his  expression 
strength,  but  the  very  minute,  dark  mustache 
which  shaded  the  upper  lip  was  a  little  too 
evidently  twisted  and  trained.  That  was  the 
only  outward  sign  of  personal  vanity,  however, 
and  was  not  an  offensive  one,  though  it  gave 
him  a  foreign  air  which  Professor  Knowles 
disliked,  but  which  the  three  Miss  Miners 
thought  charming.  His  manner  pleased  them, 
too ;  for  he  was  always  just  as  civil  to  them  as 
though  they  had  been  young  and  pretty  and 
amusing,  which  is  more  than  can  be  said  of  the 
majority  of  modern  youths.  His  conversation 
occasionally  shocked  them,  it  is  true ;  but  the 
shock  was  a  mild  one  and  agreeably  applied,  so 
that  they  were  willing  to  undergo  it  frequently. 


LOVE   IX   IDLENESS.  9 

Lawrence  was  not  thinking  of  the  Miss  Miners 
as  he  watched  the  dark  green  islands.  If  he 
had  thought  of  them  at  all  during  the  last  half- 
hour,  it  had  been  with  a  certain  undefined  grati- 
tude to  them  for  being  the  means  of  allowing 


him  to  spend  a  fortnight  in  the  society  of  Fanny 
Trehearne. 

Professor  Knowles  had  not  moved  from  his 
side  during  the  long  silence.  Lawrence  looked 
up  and  saw  that  he  was  still  there,  his  extraordi- 
nary profile*  cut  out  against  the  cloudless  sky. 


10  LOVE  IN  IDLENESS. 

"  Will  you  smoke  ?  "  enquired  Lawrence,  offer- 
ing him  a  cigarette. 

"  No,  thank  you  —  certainly  not  cigarettes," 
answered  the  Professor,  with  a  superior  air. 
"  You  were  telling  me  all  about  the  Miss 
Miners,"  he  continued;  for  though  he  knew 
none  of  them,  he  was  of  a  curious  disposition. 
"  You  spoke  of  a  Miss  Trehearne,  I  think." 

"  Yes,"  answered  the  young  man.  "  Do  you 
know  her  ? " 

"  Oh,  no.  It's  an  unusual  name,  that's  all. 
Are  they  New  York  people  ?  " 

Lawrence  smiled  at  the  idea  that  any  one 
should  ask  such  a  question. 

"  Yes,  of  course,"  he  answered.  "  New  York 
—  since  the  Flood." 

"  And  Miss  Trehearne  is  the  only  daughter?  " 
enquired  the  Professor,  inquisitively. 

"  She  has  a  brother  —  Randolph,"  replied 
Lawrence,  rather  shortly;  for  he  was  suddenly 
aware  that  there  was  no  particular  reason  why  he 
should  talk  about  the  Trehearnes. 

"  Of  course,  they're  relations  of  the  Miners," 
observed  the  Professor. 


LOVE  IN   IDLENESS.  H 

"  That's  the  reason  why  Miss  Trehearne  has 
them  to  stay  with  her.  Excuse  me  —  I  can't 
get  a  light  in  this  wind." 

Thereupon  Lawrence  turned  away  and  got 
under  the  lee  of  the  deck  saloon,  leaving  the 
Professor  to  himself.  Having  lighted  his  ciga- 
rette, the  artist  went  forward  and  stood  in  the 
sharp  head-breeze  that  seemed  to  blow  through 
and  through  him,  disinfecting  his  whole  being 
from  the  hot,  close  air  of  the  train  he  had  left 
half  an  hour  earlier. 

Bar  Harbour,  in  common  speech,  includes 
Frenchman's  Bay,  the  island  of  Mount  Desert, 
and  the  other  small  islands  lying  near  it,  —  an 
extensive  tract  of  land  and  sea.  As  a  matter  of 
fact,  the  name  belongs  to  the  little  harbour 
between  Bar  Island  and  Mount  Desert,  together 
with  the  village  which  has  grown  to  be  the 
centre  of  civilization,  since  the  whole  place  has 
become  fashionable.  Earth,  sky,  and  water  are 
of  the  north, — hard,  bright,  and  cold.  In  artists' 
slang,  there  is  no  atmosphere.  The  dark  green 
islands,  as  one  looks  at  them,  seem  to  be  almost 
before  the  foreground.  The  picture  is  beautiful, 


12  LOVE   IN   IDLENESS. 

and  some  people  call  it  grand ;  but  it  lacks 
depth.  There  is  something  fiercely  successful 
about  the  colour  of  it,  something  brilliantly  self- 
reliant.  It  suggests  a  certain  type  of  handsome 
woman  —  of  the  kind  that  need  neither  repent- 
ance nor  cosmetics,  and  are  perfectly  sure  of  the 
fact,  whose  virtue  is  too  cold  to  be  kind,  and 
whose  complexion  is  not  shadowed  by  passion, 
nor  softened  by  suffering,  nor  even  washed  pale 
with  tears.  Only  the  sea  is  eloquent.  The 
deep-breathing  tide  runs  forward  to  the  feet  of 
the  over-perfect,  heartless  earth,  to  linger  and 
plead  love's  story  while  he  may ;  then  sighing 
sadly,  sweeps  back  unsatisfied,  baring  his  deso- 
late bosom  to  her  loveless  scorn. 

The  village,  the  chief  centre,  lies  by  the 
water's  edge,  facing  the  islands  which  enclose 
the  natural  harbour.  It  was  and  is  a  fishing 
village,  like  many  another  on  the  coast.  In  the 
midst  of  it,  vast  wooden  hotels,  four  times  as  high 
as  the  houses  nearest  to  them,  have  sprung  up 
to  lodge  fashion  in  six-stoned  discomfort.  The 
effect  is  astonishing ;  for  the  blatant  architect, 
gesticulating  in  soft  wood  and  ranting  in  paint, 


LOVE  IN  IDLENESS.  13 

as  it  were,  has  sketched  an  evil  dream  of  mediae- 
valism,  incoherent  with  itself  and  with  the  very 
commonplace  facts  of  the  village  street.  There, 
also,  in  Mr.  Bee's  shop  window,  are  plainly 
visible  the  more  or  less  startling  covers  of  the 
newest  books,  while  from  on  high,  frowns  down 
the  counterfeit  presentment  of  battlements  and 
turrets,  and  of  such  terrors  as  lent  like  interest 
when  novels  were  not,  neither  was  the  slightest 
idea  of  the  short  story  yet  conceived. 

But  behind  all  and  above  all  rise  the  wooded 
hills,  which  are  neither  modern  nor  ancient,  but 
eternal.  And  in  them  and  through  them  there 
is  secret  sweetness,  and  fragrance,  and  much 
that  is  gentle  and  lovely  —  in  the  heart  of  the 
defiantly  beautiful  earth-woman  with  her  cold 
face,  far  beyond  the  reach  of  her  tide-lover,  and 
altogether  out  of  hearing  of  his  sighs  and  com- 
plaining speeches.  There  grow  in  endless  green- 
ness the  white  pines  and  the  pitch  pines,  the 
black  spruce  and  the  white ;  there  droops  the 
feathery  larch  by  the  creeping  yew,  and  there 
gleam  the  birches,  yellow,  white,  and  grey ;  the 
sturdy  red  oak  spreads  his  arms  to  the  scarlet 


LOVE   IN   IDLENESS. 


maple,  and  the  witch  hazel  rustles  softly  in  the 
mysterious  forest  breeze.  There,  buried  in  the 
wood's  bosom,  bloom  and  blossom  the  wild 


flowers,  and  redden  the  blushing  berries  in 
unseen  succession,  from  middle  June  to  late 
September  —  violets  first,  and  wild  iris,  straw- 
berries and  raspberries,  blueberries  and  black- 


LOVE  IN   IDLENESS.  15 

berries ;  short-lived  wild  roses  and  tender  little 
blue-bells,  red  lilies,  golden-rod,  and  clematis,  in 
the  confusion  of  nature's  loveliest  order. 

All  this  Lawrence  knew,  and  remembered, 
guessing  at  what  he  could  neither  remember  nor 
know,  with  an  artist's  facility  for  filling  up  the 
unfinished  sketch  left  on  the  mind  by  one  im- 
pression. He  had  been  at  Bar  Harbour  three 
years  earlier,  and  had  wandered  amongst  the 
woods  and  pottered  along  the  shore  in  a  skiff. 
But  he  had  been  alone  then  and  had  stopped  in 
the  mediaeval  hotel,  a  rather  solitary,  thinking 
unit  amidst  the  horde  of  thoughtless  summer 
nomads,  designated  by  the  clerk  at  the  desk  as 
'  Number  a  hundred  and  twenty-three,'  and  a 
candidate  for  a  daily  portion  of  the  questionable 
dinner  at  the  hotel  table.  It  was  to  be  different 
this  time,  he  thought,  as  he  watched  for  the  first 
sight  of  the  pier  when  the  Sappho  rounded  Bar 
Island.  The  Trehearnes  had  not  been  at  their 
house  three  years  ago,  and  Fanny  Trehearne 
had  been  then  not  quite  sixteen,  just  groping  her 
way  from  the  schoolroom  to  the  world,  and  quite 
beneath  his  young  importance  —  even  had  she 


16  LOVE   IN   IDLENESS. 

been  at  Bar  Harbour  to  wander  among  the 
woods  with  him.  Things  had  changed,  now. 
He  was  not  quite  sure  that  in  her  girlish  heart 
she  did  not  consider  him  beneath  her-  notice. 
She  was  straight  and  tall  —  almost  as  tall  as  he, 
and  she  was  proud,  if  she  was  not  pretty,  and  she 
carried  her  head  as  high  as  the  handsomest. 
Moreover,  she  was  rich,  and  Louis  Lawrence 
was  at  present  phenomenally  poor,  with  a  rather 
distant  chance  of  inheriting  money.  These  were 
some  of  the  excellent  reasons  why  fate  had  made 
him  fall  in  love  with  her,  though  none  of  them 
accounted  for  the  fact  that  she  had  encouraged 
him,  and  had  suggested  to  the  Miss  Miners  that 
it  would  be  very  pleasant  to  have  him  come  and 
stay  a  fortnight  in  July. 

The  Sappho  slowed  down,  stopped,  backed, 
and  made  fast  to  the  wooden  pier,  and  as  she 
swung  round,  Lawrence  saw  Fanny  Trehearne 
standing  a  little  apart  from  the  group  of  people 
who  had  come  down  to  meet  their  own  friends  or 
to  watch  other  people  meeting  theirs.  The  young 
girl  was  evidently  looking  for  him,  and  he  took 
off  his  hat  and  waved  it  about  erratically  to 


LOVE   IN   IDLENESS. 


attract  her  attention.  When  she  saw  him,  she 
nodded  with  a  faint  smile  and  moved  one  step 
nearer  to  the  gangway,  to  wait  until  he  should 
come  on  shore  with  the  crowd. 


She  had  a  quiet,  business-like  way  of  moving, 
as  though  she  never  changed  her  position  with- 
out a  purpose.  As  Lawrence  came  along,  trying 
to  gain  on  the  stream  of  passengers  with  whom 
he  was  moving,  he  kept  his  eyes  fixed  on  her 
face,  wondering  whether  the  expression  would 


18 


LOVE  IN  IDLENESS. 


change  when  he  reached  her  and  took  her  hand. 
When  the  moment  came,  the  change  was  very 
slight. 

"I  like  you  —  you're  punctual,"  she  said. 
"  Come  along !  " 

"  I've  got  some  traps,  you  know,"  he  answered, 
hesitating. 

"Well  —  there's  the  expressman.  Give  him 
your  checks." 


CHAPTER   II. 


HEY'VE     all     gone     out     in     Mr. 
Brown's     cat-boat  —  so      I      came 
alone,"    observed     Miss     Trehearne, 
when     the     expressman     had     been 
interviewed. 

"  Who  are  '  all '  ? "  asked  Lawrence.     "  Just  the 
three  Miss   Miners?" 

"  Yes.     Just  the  three  Miss  Miners." 
"  I  thought  you  might  have  somebody  stopping 
with  you." 

"  No.     Nobody   but   you.     Why  do   you    say 

'stopping'  instead  of  'staying'?     I  don't  like  it." 

"  Then     I    won't     say    it     again,"     answered 

Lawrence,  meekly.     "  Why  do  you  object  to  it, 

though  ? " 

"  You're    not   an    Englishman,    so    there's    no 

19 


20  LOVE  IN   IDLENESS: 

reason  why  you  shouldn't  speak  English.  Here's 
the  buckboard.  Can  you  drive  ?  " 

"Oh  —  well  —  yes,"  replied  the  young  man, 
rather  doubtfully,  and  looking  at  the  smart  little 
turn-out. 

Fanny  Trehearne  fixed  her  cool  grey  eyes  on 
his  face  with  a  critical  expression. 

"  Can  you  ride  ? "  she  asked,  pursuing  her 
examination. 

"  Oh,  yes  —  that  is  —  to  some  extent.  I'm  not 
exactly  a  circus-rider,  you  know  —  but  I  can  get 
on." 

"  Most  people  can  do  that.  The  important 
thing  is  not  to  come  off.  What  can  you  do  — 
anyway?  Are  you  a  good  man  in  a  boat  ?  You 
see  I've  only  met  you  in  society.  I've  never 
seen  you  do  anything." 

"  No,"  answered  Lawrence.  "  I'm  not  a  good 
man  in  a  boat,  as  you  call  it  —  except  that  I'm 
never  sea-sick.  I  don't  know  anything  about 
boats,  if  you  mean  sail-boats.  I  can  row  a  little 
—  that's  all." 

"  If  you  could  '  row,'  as  you  call  it,  you'd 
say  you  could  'pull  an  oar'  —  you  wouldn't 


LOVE  IN   IDLENESS.  21 

talk    about   '  rowing.'      Well,   get    in,    and     I'll 
drive." 

There  was  not  the  least  scorn  in  her  manner, 
at  his  inability  to  do  all  those  things  which  are 
to  be  done  at  Bar  Harbour  if  people  do  anything 
at  all.  She  had  simply  ascertained  the  fact  as 
a  measure  of  safety.  It  was  not  easy  to  guess 
whether  she  despised  him  for  his  lack  of  skill  or 
not,  but  he  was  inclined  to  think  that  she  did, 
and  he  made  up  his  mind  that  he  would  get  up 
very  early,  and  engage  a  sailor  to  go  out  with 
him  and  teach  him  something  about  boats.  The 
resolution  was  half  unconscious,  for  he  was  really  ' 
thinking  more  of  her  than  of  himself  just  then. 
To  tell  the  truth,  he  did  not  attach  so  much 
importance  to  any  of  the  things  she  had  men- 
tioned as  to  feel  greatly  humiliated  by  his  own 
ignorance. 

"  After  all,"  said  Miss  Trehearne,  as  Lawrence 
took  his  seat  beside  her,  "  it  doesn't  matter. 
And  it's  far  better  to  be  frank,  and  say  at  once 
that  you  don't  know,  than  to  pretend  that  you 
do,  and  then  try  to  steer  and  drown  one,  or  to 
drive  and  then  break  my  neck.  Only  one  rather 


22  LOVE  IN  IDLENESS. 

wonders  where  you  were  brought  up,  you 
know." 

"  Oh  —  I  was  brought  up  somehow,"  answered 
Lawrence,  vaguely.  "  I  don't  exactly  remember." 

"  It  doesn't  matter,"  returned  his  companion, 
in  a  reassuring  tone. 

"  No.     If  you  don't  mind,  I  don't." 

Fanny  Trehearne  laughed  a  little,  without 
looking  at  him,  for  she  was  intent  upon  what 
she  was  doing.  It  was  a  part  of  her  nature  to 
fix  her  attention  upon  whatever  she  had  in  hand 
—  a  fact  which  must  account  for  a  certain  indif- 
'  ference  in  what  she  said.  Just  then,  too,  she 
was  crossing  the  main  street  of  the  village,  and 
there  were  other  vehicles  moving  about  hither 
and  thither.  More  than  once  she  nodded  to  an 
acquaintance,  whom  Lawrence  also  recognized. 

"  It's  much  more  civilized  than  it  was  when 
I  was  here  last,"  observed  Lawrence.  "  There 
are  lots  of  people  one  knows." 

"  Much  too  civilized,"  answered  the  young 
girl.  "  I'm  beginning  to  hate  it." 

"  I  thought  you  liked  society  —  " 

"  !  ?     What  made  you  think  so  ?  " 


LOVE   IN   IDLENESS.  23 

This  sort  of  question  is  often  extremely  embar- 
rassing. Lawrence  looked  at  her  thoughtfully, 
and  wished  that  he  had  not  made  his  innocent 
remark,  since  he  was  called  upon  to  explain  it. 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  replied  at  last.  "  Some- 
how, I  always  associate  you  with  society,  and 
dancing,  and  that  sort  of  thing." 

"  Do  you  ?     It's  very  unjust." 

"  Well  —  it's  not  exactly  a  crime  to  like  society, 
is  it  ?  Why  are  you  so  angry  ?  " 

"  I  wish  you  wouldn't  exaggerate !  It  does 
not  follow  that  I'm  angry  because  you're  not  fair 
to  me." 

"  I  didn't  mean  to  be  unfair.  How  you  take 
one  up ! " 

"  Really,  Mr.  Lawrence  —  I  think  it's  you  who 
are  doing  that !  " 

Miss  Trehearne,  having  a  stretch  of  clear  road 
before  her,  gave  her  pair  their  heads  for  a 
moment,  and  the  light  buckboard  dashed  briskly 
up  the  gentle  ascent.  Lawrence  was  watching 
her,  though  she  did  not  look  at  him,  and  he 
thought  he  saw  the  colour  deepen  in  her  sun- 
burnt cheek,  although  her  grey  eyes  were  as 

2_Vol.  9 


24  LOVE   IN   IDLENESS. 

cool  as  ever.  She  was  certainly  not  pretty, 
according  to  the  probable  average  judgment  of 
younger  men.  Lawrence,  himself,  who  was  an 
artist,  wondered  what  he  saw  in  her  face  to 
attract  him,  since  he  could  not  deny  the  attrac- 
tion, and  could  not  attribute  it  altogether  to 
expression  nor  to  the  indirect  effect  of  her  char- 
acter acting  upon  his  imagination.  He  did  not 
like  to  believe,  either,  that  the  charm  was  ficti- 
tious, and  lay  in  a  certain  air  of  superior  smart- 
ness, the  result  of  good  taste  and  plenty  of 
money.  Anybody  could  wear  serge,  and  a  more 
or  less  nautical  hat  and  gloves,  just  in  the  fash- 
ionable degree  of  loose-ness  or  tightness,  as  the 
case  might  be.  Anybody  who  chose  had  the 
right  to  turn  up  a  veil  over  the  brim  of  the  afore- 
said hat,  and  anybody  who  did  so  stood  a  good 
chance  of  being  sunburnt.  Moreover,  as  Law- 
rence well  knew,  there  is  a  quality  of  healthy 
complexion  which  tans  to  a  golden  brown,  very 
becoming  when  the  grey  eyes  have  dark  lashes, 
but  less  so  when,  as  in  Fanny  Trehearne's  case, 
the  lashes  and  brows  are  much  lighter  than  the 
hair  —  almost  white,  in  fact.  It  is  not  certain 


LOVE  IN  IDLENESS.  25 

whether  the  majority  of  human  noses  turn  up  or 
down.  There  was,  however,  no  doubt  but  that 
Fanny's  turned  up.  It  was  also  apparent  that 
she  had  decidedly  high  cheek  bones,  a  square 
jaw,  and  a  large  mouth,  with  lips  much  too  even 
and  too  little  curved  for  beauty.  After  all,  her 
best  points  were  perhaps  her  eyes,  her  golden- 
brown  complexion,  and  her  crisp,  reddish  brown 
hair,  which  twisted  itself  into  sharp  little  curls 
wherever  it  was  not  long  enough  to  be  smoothed. 
With  a  little  more  regularity  of  feature,  Fanny 
Trehearne  might  have  been  called  a  milkmaid 
beauty,  so  far  as  her  face  was  concerned.  Fortu- 
nately for  her,  her  looks  were  above  or  below 
such  faint  praise.  It  was  doubtful  whether  she 
would  be  said  to  have  charm,  but  she  had  indi- 
viduality, since  those  terms  are  in  common  use 
to  express  gifts  which  escape  definition. 

A  short  silence  followed  her  somewhat  indig- 
nant speech.  Then,  the  road  being  still  clear 
before  her,  she  turned  and  looked  at  Lawrence. 
It  was  not  a  mere  glance  of  enquiry,  it  was  cer- 
tainly not  a  tender  glance,  but  her  eyes  lingered 
with  his  for  a  moment. 


26  LOVE   IN   IDLENESS. 

"  Look  here  —  are  we  going  to  quarrel  ?  "  she 
asked. 

"  Is  there  any  reason  why  we  should  ?  "  Law- 
rence smiled. 

"  Not  if  we  agree,"  answered  the  young  girl, 
gravely,  as  she  turned  her  head  from  him  again. 

"  That  means  that  we  shan't  quarrel  if  I 
agree  with  you,  I  suppose,"  observed  the  young 
man. 

"  Well,  why  shouldn't  you  ? "  asked  Fanny, 
frankly.  "  You  may  just  as  well,  you  know.  You 
will  in  the  end." 

"  By  Jove  !  You  seem  pretty  sure  of  that !  " 
Lawrence  laughed. 

Fanny  said  nothing  in  reply,  but  shortened  the 
reins  as  the  horses  reached  the  top  of  the  hill. 
Lawrence  looked  down  towards  the  sea.  The 
sun  was  very  low,  and  the  water  was  turning  from 
sapphire  to  amaranth,  while  the  dark  islands 
gathered  gold  into  their  green  depths. 

"  How  beautiful  it  is  ! "  exclaimed  the  artist, 
not  exactly  from  impulse,  though  in  real  enjoy- 
ment, while  consciously  hoping  that  his  companion 
would  say  something  pleasant. 


LOVE   IN   IDLENESS.  27 

"  Of  course  it's  beautiful,"  she  answered. 
"That's  why  I  come  here." 

"  I  should  put  it  in  the  opposite  way,"  said 
Lawrence. 

"How?" 

"  Why  —  it's  beautiful  because  you  come 
here." 

"  Oh  —  that's  ingenious  !  You  think  it's  my 
mission  to  beautify  landscapes." 

"  I  thought  that  if  I  said  something  pretty  in 
the  way  of  a  compliment,  we  shouldn't  go  on 
quarrelling." 

"  Oh  !  Were  we  quarrelling  ?  I  hadn't  no- 
ticed it." 

"  You  said  something  about  it  a  moment  ago," 
observed  Lawrence,  mildly. 

"  Did  I  ?  You're  an  awfully  literal  person. 
By  the  bye,  you  know  all  the  Miss  Miners, 
don't  you?  I've  forgotten." 

"  I  believe  I  do.  There's  Miss  Miner  the 
elder  —  to  begin  with  —  " 

"  The  oldest  —  since  there  are  three,"  said 
Fanny,  correcting  him.  "  Yes  —  she's  the  one 
with  the  hair  —  and  teeth." 


28  LOVE   IN   IDLENESS. 

"Yes,  and  Miss  Elizabeth  —  isn't  that  her 
name  ?  The  plainest  —  " 

"And  the  nicest.  And  Augusta  —  she's  the 
third.  Paints  wild  flowers  and  plays  the  piano. 
She's  about  my  age,  I  believe." 

"  Your  age !     Why,  she  must  be  over  thirty  !  " 

"  No.  She's  nineteen,  still.  She's  got  an 
anchor  out  to  windward  —  against  the  storm  of 
time,  you  know.  She  swings  a  little  with  the 
tide,  though." 

"  I  don't  understand,"  said  Lawrence,  to  whom 
nautical  language  was  incomprehensible. 

"  Never  mind.  I  only  mean  that  she  does 
not  want  to  grow  old.  It's  always  funny  to  see 
a  person  of  nineteen  who's  really  over  thirty." 

Lawrence  laughed  a  little. 

"  You're  fond  of  them  all,  aren't  you  ? "  he 
asked,  presently. 

"  Of  course  !  They're  my  relation  —  how  could 
I  help  being  fond  of  them  ?  " 

"  Oh  —  yes,"  answered  Lawrence,  vaguely. 
"  But  they  really  are  very  nice  —  people." 

"Why  do  you  hesitate?" 

"  I    don't  know.      I    couldn't    say    '  very    nice 


LOVE   IN   IDLENESS.  29  . 

ladies,'  could  I  ?  And  I  shouldn't  exactly  say 
'  very  nice  women  '  —  and  '  very  nice  people  ' 
sounds  queer,  somehow,  doesn't  it  ?  " 

"  And  you  wouldn't  say  '  very  nice  old 
maids'  —  " 

"Certainly  not!" 

"  No.  It  wouldn't  be  civil  to  me,  nor  kind 
to  them.  The  truth  is  generally  unkind  and 
usually  rude.  Besides,  they  love  you." 

"Me?" 

"Yes.  They  rave  about  you,  and  your  looks, 
and  your  manners,  and  your  conversation,  and 
your  talents." 

"  The  dickens  !  I'm  flattered  !  But  it's  always 
the  wrong  people  who  like  one." 

"  Why  the  wrong  people  ? "  asked  Fanny 
Trehearne,  not  looking  at  him. 

"  Because  all  the  liking  in  the  world  from  peo- 
ple one  doesn't  care  for  can't  make  up  for  the 
not  liking  of  the  one  person  one  does  care  for." 

"  Oh  —  in  that  way.  It's  rash  to  care  for 
only  one  person.  It's  putting  all  one's  eggs 
into  one  basket." 

"  What  an  extraordinary  sentiment !  " 


30  LOVE   IN   IDLENESS. 

"  I  didn't  mean  it  for  sentiment." 

"  No  —  I  should  think  not !  Quite  the  con- 
trary, I  should  say." 

"  Quite,"  affirmed  Fanny,  gravely. 

"Quite?" 

"  Yes  —  almost  quite." 

"  Oh  — '  almost '  quite  ?  " 

"  It's  the  same  thing." 

"  Not  to  me." 

The  young  girl  would  not  turn  her  atten- 
tion from  her  horses,  though  in  Lawrence's 
inexpert  opinion  she  could  have  done  so 
with  perfect  safety  just  then,  and  without  im- 
propriety. The  most  natural  and  innocent  curi- 
osity should  have  prompted  her  to  look  into  his 
eyes  for  a  moment,  if  only  to  see  whether  he 
were  in  earnest  or  not.  He  would  certainly  not 
have  thought  her  a  flirt  if  she  had  glanced 
kindly  at  him.  But  she  looked  resolutely  at 
the  horses'  heads. 

"  Here  we  are !  "  she  exclaimed  suddenly. 

With  a  sharp  turn  to  the  left  the  buckboard 
swept  through  the  open  gate,  the  off  horse  break- 
ing into  a  canter  which  Fanny  instantly  checked. 


LOVE   IN   IDLENESS.  31 

The  near  wheels  passed  within  a  foot  of  the 
gatepost. 

"  Wasn't  that  rather  close  ?  "  asked  Lawrence. 

"  Why  ?  There  was  lots  of  room.  Are  you 
nervous  ? " 

"  I  suppose  I  am,  since  you  say  so." 

"  I  didn't  say  so.     I  asked." 

"  And  I  answered,"  said  Lawrence,  tartly. 

"  How  sensitive  you  are !  You  act  as  though 
I  had  called  you  a  coward." 

"  I  thought  you  meant  to.  It  sounded  rather 
like  it." 

"  You  have  no  right  to  think  that  I  mean 
things  which  I  haven't  said,"  answered  the  young 
girl. 

"  Oh,  very  well.  I  apologize  for  thinking  that 
what  you  said  meant  anything." 

"  Don't  lose  your  temper  —  don't  be  a  spoilt 
baby ! " 

Lawrence  said  nothing,  and  they  reached  the 
house  in  silence.  Fanny  was  not  mistaken  in 
calling  him  sensitive,  though  he  was  by  no  means 
so  nervous,  perhaps,  as  she  seemed  ready  to  be- 
lieve. She  had  a  harsh  way  of  saying  things 


32  LOVE   IN   IDLENESS. 

which,  spoken  with  a  smile,  could  not  have  given 
offence,  and  Lawrence  was  apt  to  attach  real 
importance  to  her  careless  speeches..  He  felt 
himself  out  of  his  element  from  the  first,  in  a 
place  where  he  might  be  expected  to  do  things 
in  which  he  could  not  but  show  an  awkward  in- 
experience, and  he  was  ready  to  resent  anything 
like  the  suggestion  that  timidity  was  at  the  root 
of  his  ignorance,  or  was  even  its  natural  result. 

His  face  was  unnecessarily  grave  as  he  held 
out  his  hand  to  help  Fanny  down  from  the  buck- 
board,  and  she  neither  touched  it  nor  looked  at 
him  as  she  sprang  to  the  ground. 

"  Go  into  the  library,  and  we'll  have  tea,"  she 
said,  without  turning  her  head,  as  she  entered  the 
house  before  him.  "  I'll  be  down  in  a  moment." 

She  pointed  carelessly  to  the  open  door  and 
went  through  the  hall  in  the  direction  of  the 
staircase.  Lawrence  entered  the  room  alone. 

The  house  was  very  large ;  for  the  Trehearnes 
were  rich  people,  and  liked  to  have  their  friends 
with  them  in  considerable  numbers.  Moreover, 
they  had  bought  land  in  Bar  Harbour  in  days 
when  it  had  been  cheap,  and  had  built  their 


LOVE   IN   IDLENESS.  33 

dwelling  commodiously,  in  the  midst  of  a  big  lot 
which  ran  down  from  the  road  to  the  sea.  With 
the  instinct  of  a  man  who  has  been  obliged  to 
live  in  New  York,  squeezed  in,  as  it  were,  between 
tall  houses  on  each  side,  Mr.  Trehearne  had  given 
himself  the  luxury,  in  Bar  Harbour,  of  a  house  as 
wide  and  as  deep  as  he  could  possibly  desire,  and 
only  two  stories  high. 

The  library  was  in  the  southwest  corner  of  the 
house,  opening  on  the  south  side  upon  a  deep 
verandah  from  which  wooden  steps  descended  to 
the  shrubbery,  and  having  windows  to  the  west, 
which  overlooked  the  broad  lawn.  The  latter 
was  enclosed  by  tall  trees.  The  winding  avenue 
led  in  a  northerly  direction  to  the  main  road. 
At  the  east  end  of  the  house,  the  offices  ran  out 
towards  the  boundary  of  the  Trehearnes'  land, 
and  beyond  them,  among  the  trees,  there  was  a 
small  yard  enclosed  by  a  lattice  of  wood  eight  or 
ten  feet  high. 

The  library  was  the  principal  room  on  the 
ground  floor,  and  was  really  larger  than  the 
drawing-room  which  followed  it  along  the  line 
of  the  south  verandah,  though  it  seemed  smaller 


34  LOVE  IN   IDLENESS. 

from  being  more  crowded  with  furniture.  As 
generally  happens  in  the  country,  it  had  become 
a  sort  of  common  room  in  which  everybody 
preferred  to  sit.  The  drawing-room  had  been 
almost  abandoned  of  late,  the  three  Miss  Miners 
being  sociable  beings,  unaccustomed  to  magnifi- 
cence in  their  own  homes,  and  averse  to  being 
alone  with  it  anywhere.  They  felt  that  the 
drawing-room  was  too  fine  for  them,  and  by  tacit 
consent  they  chose  the  library  for  their  general 
trysting-place  and  tea  camp  when  they  were 
indoors.  Mrs.  Trehearne,  who  was,  perhaps,  a 
little  too  fond  of  splendour,  would  have  smiled 
at  the  idea  as  she  thought  of  her  gorgeously 
brocaded  reception  rooms  in  New  York ;  but 
Fanny  had  simple  tastes,  like  her  father,  and 
agreed  with  her  old-maid  cousins  in  preferring 
the  plain,  dark  woodwork,  the  comfortable  leath- 
ern chairs,  and  the  backs  of  the  books,  to  the 
dreary  wilderness  of  expensive  rugs  and  unneces- 
sary gilding  which  lay  beyond.  For  the  sake  of 
coolness,  the  doors  were  usually  opened  between 
the  rooms. 


CHAPTER    III. 


HE  weather  was  warm.  By  contrast 
with  the  cool  air  of  the  bay  he  had 
lately  crossed,  it  seemed  hot  to  Law- 
rence when  he  entered  the  library. 
Barely  glancing  at  the  room,  he  went  straight 
to  one  of  the  doors  which  opened  upon  the 
verandah,  and  going  out,  sat  down  discontentedly 
in  a  big  cushioned  straw  chair.  It  was  very 
warm,  and  it  seemed  suddenly  very  still.  In  the 
distance  he  could  hear  the  wheels  of  the  buck- 
board  in  the  avenue,  as  the  groom  took  it  round 
to  the  stables,  and  out  of  the  close  shrubbery  he 
caught  the  sharp,  dry  sound  of  footsteps  rapidly 
retreating  along  a  concealed  cinder  path.  The 
air  scarcely  stirred  the  creeper  which  climbed  up 
one  of  the  pillars  of  the  verandah  and  festooned 

35 


36  LOVE   IN   IDLENESS. 

its  way,  curtain-like,  in  both  directions  to  the 
opposite  ends.  On  his  right  he  could  see  the 
broad,  sloping  lawn,  all  shadowed  now  by  the  tall 
trees  beyond.  Without  looking  directly  at  it,  he 
felt  that  the  vivid  green  of  the  grass  was  softened 
and  that  there  must  be  gold  in  the  tops  of  the 
trees.  The  sensation  was  restful,  but  his  eyes 
stared  vacantly  at  the  deep  shrubbery  which 
began  at  the  foot  of  the  verandah  steps  and 
stretched  away  under  the  spruces  at  his  left. 

He  was  exceedingly  discontented,  though  he 
had  just  arrived,  or,  perhaps,  for  that  very  reason 
among  many  other  minor  ones.  He  had  never 
had  any  cause  to  expect  from  Fanny  Trehearne 
anything  in  the  way  of  sentiment,  but  he  was 
none  the  less  persuaded  that  he  had  a  moral 
right  to  look  for  something  more  than  chaff  and 
good-natured  hospitality,  spiced  with  such  vigor- 
ous reproof  as  "  don't  be  a  spoilt  baby." 

The  words  rankled.  He  was  asking  himself 
just  then  whether  he  was  a  '  spoilt  baby '  or 
not.  It  was  of  great  importance  to  him  to  know 
the  truth.  If  he  -  was  a  spoilt  baby,  of  course 
Miss  Trehearne  had  a  right  to  say  so  if  she  liked, 


LOVE  IN   IDLENESS.  37 

though  the  expression  was  not  complimentary. 
But  if  not,  she  was  monstrously  unjust.  He  did 
not  deny  that  the  accusation  might  be  well 
founded ;  for  he  was  modest  as  well  as  sensitive, 
and  did  not  think  very  highly  of  himself  at 
present,  though  he  hoped  great  things  for  the 
future,  and  believed  that  he  was  to  be  a  famous 
artist. 

The  more  he  told  himself  that  he  had  no  right 
to  expect  anything  of  Fanny,  the  more  thor- 
oughly convinced  he  became  that  his  right 
existed,  and  that  she  was  trampling  upon  it. 
She  had  ordered  him  into  the  library  in  a  very 
peremptory  and  high-and-mighty  fashion  to  wait 
for  her,  regardless  of  the  fact  that  he  had 
travelled  twenty-four  hours,  and  had  acquired 
the  prerogative  right  of  the  traveller  to  soap  and 
water  before  all  else.  "  No  doubt  he  was  quite 
presentable,  since  the  conditions  of  modern  rail- 
ways had  made  it  possible  to  come  in  clean,  or 
comparatively  so,  from  a  longish  run.  But  the 
ancient  traditions  ought  not  to  be  swept  out  of 
the  way,  Louis  thought,  and  the  right  of  scrub- 
bing subsisted  still.  She  might  at  least  have 


38  LOVE   IN   IDLENESS. 

given  him  a  hint  as  to  the  whereabouts  of  his 
room,  since  she  had  left  him  to  himself  for  a 
quarter  of  an  hour.  She  had  not  been  gone 
four  minutes  yet,  but  Louis  made  it  fifteen,  and 
fifteen  it  was  to  be,  in  his  estimation. 

Presently  he  heard  a  man's  footstep  in  the 
library  behind  him,  and  the  subdued  tinkling 
of  a  superior  tea-service,  of  which  the  sound 
differs  from  the  clatter  of  the  hotel  tea-tray,  as 
the  voice,  say,  of  Fanny  Trehearne  differed  in 
refinement  from  that  of  an  Irish  cook.  But 
it  irritated  Lawrence,  nevertheless,  and  he  did 
not  look  round.  He  felt  that  when  Fanny  came 
down  again,  he  intended  to  refuse  tea  altogether 
—  presumably,  by  way  of  proving  that  he  was 
not  a  spoilt  baby  after  all.  He  crossed  one  leg 
over  the  other  impatiently,  and  hesitated  as  to 
whether,  if  he  lit  a  cigarette,  it  would  seem  rude 
to  be  smoking  when  Fanny  should  come,  even 
though  he  was  really  in  the  open  air  on  the 
verandah.  But  in  this,  his  manners  had  the 
better  of  his  impatience,  and  after  touching  his 
cigarette  case  in  his  pocket,  in  a  longing  way,  he 
did  not  take  it  out. 


LOVE   IN  IDLENESS.  39 

At  last  he  heard  Fanny  enter  the  room. 
There  was  no  mistaking  her  tread,  for  he  had 
noticed  that  she  wore  tennis  shoes.  He  knew 
that  she  could  not  see  him  where  he  sat,  and  he 
turned  his  head  towards  the  door  expectantly. 
Again  he  heard  the  tinkle  of  the  tea-things. 
Then  there  was  silence.  Then  the  urn  began 
to  hiss  and  sing  softly,  and  there  was  another 
sort  of  tinkling.  It  was  clear  that  Fanny  had 
sat  down.  She  could  have  no  idea  that  he  was 
sitting  outside,  as  he  knew,  but  he  thought  she 
might  have  taken  the  trouble  to  look  for  him. 
He  listened  intently  for  the  sound  of  her  step 
again,  but  it  did  not  come,  and,  oddly  enough, 
his  heart  began  to  beat  more  quickly.  But  he 
did  not  move.  He  felt  a  ridiculous  determina- 
tion to  wait  until  she  began  to  be  impatient  and 
to  move  about  and  look  for  him.  He  could  not 
have  told  whether  it  were  timidity,  or  nervous- 
ness, or  ill-temper  which  kept  him  nailed  to  his 
chair,  and  just  then  he  would  have  scorned  the 
idea  that  it  could  be  love  in  any  shape,  though 
his  heart  was  beating  so  fast. 

Suddenly    his    straining   ear   caught   the    soft 


40  LOVE  IN   IDLENESS. 

rustle  made  by  the  pages  of  a  book,  turned 
deliberately  and  smoothed  afterwards.  She  was 
calmly  reading,  indifferent  to  his  coming  or 
staying  away  —  reading  while  the  tea  was  draw- 
ing. How  stolid  she  was,  he  thought.  She  was 
certainly  not  conscious  of  the  action  of  her  heart 
as  she  sat  there.  For  a  few  moments  longer  he 
did  not  move.  Then  he  felt  he  wished  to  see 
her,  to  see  how  she  was  sitting,  and  how  really 
indifferent  she  was.  But  if  he  made  a  sound,  she 
would  look  up  and  lay  down  her  book  even  before 
he  entered  the  room.  The  verandah  had  a  floor 
of  painted  boards,  —  which  are  more  noisy  than 
unpainted  ones,  for  some  occult  reason,  —  and  he 
could  not  stir  a  step  without  being  heard.  Besides, 
his  straw  easy-chair  would  creak  when  he  rose. 

All  at  once  he  felt  how  very  foolish  he  was, 
and  he  got  up  noisily,  an  angry  blush  on  his 
young  face.  He  reached  the  entrance  in  two 
strides  and  stood  in  the  open  doorway,  with  his 
back  to  the  light.  As  he  had  guessed,  Fanny 
was  reading. 

"  Oh ! "  he  ejaculated  with  affected  surprise, 
as  he  looked  at  her. 


LOVE  IN   IDLENESS.  41 

She  did  not  raise  her  eyes  nor  start,  being 
evidently  intent  upon  finishing  the  sentence  she 
had  begun. 

"  I  thought  you  were  never  coming,"  she  said, 
absently. 

He  was  more  hurt  than  ever  by  her  indiffer- 
ence, and  sat  down  at  a  little  distance,  without 
moving-  the  light  chair  he  had  chosen.  Fanny 
reached  the  foot  of  the  page,  put  a  letter  she 
held  into  the  place,  closed  the  book  upon  it,  and 
then  at  last  looked  up. 

"  Do  you  like  your  tea  strong  or  weak  ? "  she 
enquired  in  a  business-like  tone. 

"  Just  as  it  comes  —  I  don't  care,"  answered 
Lawrence,  gloomily. 

"  Then  I'll  give  it  to  you  now.  I  like  mine 
strong." 

"  It's  bad  for  the  nerves." 

"  I  haven't  any  nerves,"  said  Fanny  Trehearne, 
with  conviction. 

"  That's  curious,"  observed  Lawrence,  with 
fine  sarcasm. 

Fanny  looked  at  him  without  smiling,  since 
there  was  nothing  to  smile  at,  and  then  poured 


42  LOVE   IN   IDLENESS. 

out  his  tea.  He  took  it  in  silence,  but  helped 
himself  to  more  sugar,  with  a  reproachful  air. 

"  Oh  —  you  like  it  sweet,  do  you  ?  "  said  Fanny, 
interrogatively. 

"  Peculiarity  of  spoilt  babies,"  answered  Law- 
rence, in  bitter  tones. 

"  Yes,  I  see  it  is." 

And  with  this  crushing  retort  Fanny  Tre- 
hearne  relapsed  into  silence.  Lawrence  began 
to  drink  his  tea,  burnt  his  mouth  with  courageous 
indifference,  stirred  up  the  sugar  gravely,  and 
said  nothing. 

"  I  wonder  when  they'll  get  home,"  said  Fanny, 
after  a  long  interval. 

"Are  you  anxious  about  them?"  enquired  the 
young  man,  with  affected  politeness. 

"  Anxious  ?     No !   I  was  only  wondering." 

"  I'm  not  very  amusing,  I  know,"  said  Law- 
rence, grimly. 

"No,  you're  not." 

The  blood  rushed  to  his  face  again  with  his 
sudden  irritation,  and  he  drank  more  hot  tea  to 
keep  himself  in  countenance.  At  that  moment 
he  sincerely  wished  that  he  had  not  come  to  Bar 
Harbour  at  all. 


LOVE   IN   IDLENESS.  43 

"You're  not  particularly  encouraging,  Miss 
Trehearne,"  he  said  presently.  "I'm  sure,  I'm 
doing  my  best  to  be  agreeable." 

"And  you  think  that  I'm  doing  my  best  to  be 
disagreeable?  I'm  not,  you  know.  It's  your 
imagination." 

"  I  don't  know,"  answered  Lawrence,  his  face 
unbending  a  little.  "  You  began  by  telling  me 
that  you  despised  me  because  I'm  such  a  duffer 
at  out-of-door  things,  then  you  told  me  I  was  a 
spoilt  baby,  and  now  you're  proving  to  me  that 
I'm  a  bore." 

"  Duffer,  baby,  and  bore ! "  Fanny  laughed. 
"What  an  appalling  combination!  " 

"  It  is,  indeed.     But  that's  what  you  said  —  " 

"Oh,  nonsense!  I  wasn't  as  rude  as  that,  was 
I  ?  But  I  never  said  anything  of  the  sort,  you 
know." 

"You  really  did  say  that  I  was  a  spoilt 
baby—" 

"No.  I  told  you  not  to  be,  by  way  of  a  gen- 
eral warning — " 

"Well,  it's  the  same  thing  —  " 

"  Is  it  ?     If   I   tell  you  not  to  go  out  of   the 


44  LOVE  IN   IDLENESS. 

room,  for  instance,  and  if  you  sit  still  —  is  it  the 
same  thing  as  though  you  got  up  and  went 
out?" 

"  Why  no  —  of  course  not !     How  absurd ! " 

"  Well,  the  other  is  absurd  too." 

"  I'll  never  say  again  that  women  aren't  logi- 
cal," answered  Lawrence,  smiling  in  spite  of 
himself. 

"No — don't.     Have  some  more  tea." 

"Thanks  —  I've  not  finished.  It's  too  hot  to 
drink." 

Thereupon,  his  good  temper  returning,  he 
desisted  from  self-torture  by  scalding,  and  set 
the  cup  down.  Fanny  watched  him,  but  turned 
her  eyes  away  as  he  looked  up  and  she  met  his 
glance. 

"  I'm  so  glad  you've  come,"  she  said  quietly. 
"  I've  looked  forward  to  it." 

Perhaps  she  was  a  little  the  more  ready  to  say 
so,  because  she  was  inwardly  conscious  of  having 
rather  wilfully  teased  him,  but  she  meant  what 
she  said.  Lawrence  felt  his  heart  beating  again 
in  a  moment.  Resting  his  elbow  on  his  knees, 
he  clasped  his  hands  and  looked  down  at  the 


LOVE  IN  IDLENESS.  45 

pattern  of  the  rug  under  his  feet.  She  did  not 
realize  how  easily  she  could  move  him,  not  being 
by  any  means  a  flirt. 

"  It's  nothing  to  the  way  I've  looked  forward 
to  it,"  he  answered. 

She  was  silent,  but  he  did  not  raise  his  head. 
He  could  see  her  face  in  the  carpet. 

"  You  know  that,  don't  you  ? "  he  asked,  in  a 
low  voice,  after  a  few  moments. 

Unfortunately  for  his  information  on  the  sub- 
ject, the  butler  appeared  just  then,  announcing 
a  visitor. 

"  Mr.  Brinsley." 

It  was  clear  that  the  manservant  had  no  option 
in  the  matter  of  admitting  the  newcomer,  who 
was  in  the  room  almost  before  his  name  was  pro- 
nounced. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Miss  Trehearne  ?  "  he  began 
as  he  came  swiftly  forward.  "  I'm  tremendously 
glad  to  find  you  at  home.  You're  generally  out 
at  this  hour." 

"  Is  that  why  you  chose  it  ? "  asked  Fanny, 
with  a  little  laugh  and  holding  out  her  hand. 
"  Do  you  know  Mr.  Lawrence  ?  "  she  continued, 


46  LOVE  IN   IDLENESS. 

by  way  of  introducing  the  two  men.  "  Mr.  Brins- 
ley,"  she  added,  for  Louis's  benefit. 

Lawrence  had  risen,  and  he  shook  hands  with 
a  good  grace.  But  he  hated  Mr.  Brinsley  at 
once,  both  because  the  latter  had  come  inop- 
portunely and  because  his  own  sensitive  nature 
was  instantly  and  strongly  repelled  by  the 
man. 

There  was  no  mistaking  Mr.  Brinsley 's  Cana- 
dian accent,  though  he  seemed  anxious  to  make 
it  as  English  as  possible,  and  Lawrence  disliked 
Canadians ;  but  that  fact  alone  could  not  have 
produced  the  strongly  disagreeable  sensation  of 
which  the  younger  man  was  at  once  conscious, 
and  he  looked  at  the  visitor  in  something  like 
surprise  at  the  strength  of  his  instantaneous 
aversion.  Brinsley,  though  dressed  quietly,  and 
with  irreproachable  correctness,  was  a  showy 
man,  of  medium  height,  but  magnificently  made. 
His  wrists  were  slender,  nervous,  and  sinewy,  his 
ankles  —  displayed  to  advantage  by  his  low  rus- 
set shoes  —  were  beautifully  modelled,  whereas 
his  shoulders  were  almost  abnormally  broad,  and 
the  cords  and  veins  moved  visibly  in  his  athletic 


LOVE  IN  IDLENESS.  47 

neck  when  he  spoke  or  moved.  The  powerful 
muscles  were  apparent  under  his  thin  grey 
clothes,  and  Lawrence  had  noticed  the  perfect 
grace  and  strength  of  his  quick  step  when  he  had 
entered.  In  face  he  was  very  dark,  and  his  wiry, 
short  black  hair  had  rusty  reflexions.  His  skin 
was  tanned  to  a  deep  brown,  and  mottled,  espe- 
cially about  the  eyes,  with  deep  shadows,  in  which 
were  freckles  even  darker  than  the  shadows  them- 
selves. His  beard  evidently  grew  as  high  as  his 
cheek  bones,  for  the  line  from  which  it  was 
shaved  was  cleanly  drawn  and  marked  by  the 
dark  fringe  remaining  above.  His  mustache  was 
black  and  heavy,  and  he  wore  very  small,  closely 
cropped  whiskers  like  those  affected  by  naval 
officers.  He  had  one  of  those  arrogant,  vain, 
astute  noses  which  seem  to  point  at  whatever  the 
small  and  beady  black  eyes  judge  to  be  worth 
having. 

At  a  glance,  Lawrence  saw  that  Brinsley  was 
an  athlete,  and  he  guessed  instantly  that  the  man 
must  be  good  at  all  those  things  which  Louis 
himself  was  unable  to  do.  He  was  a  man  to 
ride,  drive,  run,  pull  an  oar,  and  beat  everybody 

3— v'uL  9 


48        .  LOVE  IN   IDLENESS. 

at  tennis.  But  neither  was  that  the  reason  why 
Lawrence  hated  him  from  the  first.  It  had  been 
the  touch  of  his  hard  dry  hand,  perhaps,  or  the 
flash  of  the  light  in  his  small  black  eyes,  or  his 
self-satisfied  and  all-conquering  expression.  It 
was  not  easy  to  say.  Possibly,  too,  Louis 
thought  that  Brinsley  was  his  rival,  and  resented 
the  fact  that  Fanny  had  betrayed  no  annoyance 
at  the  interruption. 

But  Brinsley  barely  vouchsafed  Lawrence  a 
glance,  as  the  latter  thought,  and  immediately 
sat  himself  down  much  nearer  to  Miss  Tre- 
hearne  and  the  tea-table  than  Louis,  in  his 
previous  rage,  had  thought  fit  to  do. 

"  Well,  Miss  Trehearne,"  said  Brinsley,  "  how 
is  Tim  ?  Isn't  he  all  right  yet  ?  " 

"  He's  better,"  answered  Fanny.  "  He  had  a 
bad  time  of  it,  but  you  can't  kill  a  wire-haired 
terrier,  you  know.  He  wouldn't  take  the  phos- 
phate. I  believe  it  was  sweetened,  and  he  hates 
sugar." 

"  So  do  I.  Please  don't  give  me  any,"  he 
added  quickly,  watching  her  as  she  prepared  a 
cup  of  tea  for  him. 


LOVE   IN   IDLENESS. 


41) 


Lawrence's  resentment  began  to  grow  again. 
It  was  doubtless  because  Mr.  Brinsley  never 
took  sugar  that  Fanny  had  seemed  scornfully 
surprised  at  the  artist's  weakness  for  it. 


CHAPTER    IV. 

IOUIS  LAWRENCE  was  exceed- 
ingly uncomfortable  during  the  next 
few  minutes,  and  to  add  to  his  misery, 
he  was  quite  conscious  that  he  had 
nothing  to  complain  of.  It  was  natural  that 
he  should  not  know  the  people  in  Bar  Harbour, 
excepting  those  whom  he  had  known  before, 
and  that  he  should  be  in  complete  ignorance 
of  all  projected  gaieties.  Of  course  no  one 
had  suggested  to  the  Reveres,  for  instance,  to 
ask  him  to  their  dance ;  because  they  were 
Boston  people,  they  did  not  know  him,  and 
nobody  was  aware  that  he  was  within  reach. 
Besides,  Louis  Lawrence  was  a  very  insignifi- 
cant personage,  though  he  was  well-connected, 


LOVE  IN   IDLENESS.  51 

well-bred,  and  not  ill-looking.  He  was  just 
now  a  mere  struggling  artist,  with  no  money 
except  in  the  questionable  future,  and  if  he 
had  talent,  it  was  problematical,  since  he 
had  not  distinguished  himself  in  any  way  as 
yet. 

He  remembered  all  these  things,  but  they 
did  not  console  him.  In  order  not  to  seem 
rude,  he  made  vague  remarks  from  time  to  time, 
when  something  occurred  to  him  to  say,  but 
he  inwardly  wished  Brinsley  a  speedy  departure 
and  a  fearful  end.  Fanny  seemed  amused  and 
interested  by  the  man's  conversation,  and  she 
herself  talked  fluently.  Now  and  then  Brinsley 
looked  at  Lawrence,  really  surprised  by  the 
latter's  ignorance  of  everything  in  the  nature 
of  sport,  and  possibly  with  a  passing  contempt 
which  Lawrence  noticed  and  proceeded  to  ex- 
aggerate in  importance.  The  artist  was  on  the 
point  of  asking  Fanny's  permission  to  go  and 
find  the  room  allotted  to  him,  when  a  sound 
of  women's  voices,  high  and  low,  came  through 
the  open  windows.  There  was  an  audible  little 
confusion  in  the  hall,  and  the  three  Miss  Miners 


62  LOVE   IN   IDLENESS. 

entered  the  library  one  after  the  other  in  quick 
succession. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Brinsley ! "  exclaimed  Miss  Cor- 
delia, the  eldest,  coming  forward  with  a  pale 
smile  which  showed  many  of  her  very  beautiful 
teeth. 

"  Mr.  Brinsley  is  here,"  said  Miss  Elizabeth,  the 
ugly  one,  in  an  undertone  to  Miss  Augusta,  who 
possessed  the  accomplishments. 

Then  they  also  advanced  and  shook  hands 
with  much  cordiality,  the  remains  of  which  were 
promptly  offered  to  Lawrence.  Mr.  Brinsley 
did  not  seem  in  the  least  overpowered  by  the 
sudden  entrance  of  the  three  old  maids.  He 
smiled,  moved  up  several  chairs  to  the  tea-table, 
and  laughed  agreeably  over  each  chair,  though 
Lawrence  could  not  see  that  there  was  anything 
to  laugh  at.  Brinsley 's  vitality  was  tremendous, 
and  his  manners  were  certainly  very  good,  so 
that  he  was  a  useful  person  in  a  drawing-room. 
His  assurance,  if  put  to  the  test,  would  have  been 
found  equal  to  most  emergencies.  But  on  the 
present  occasion  he  had  no  need  of  it.  It  was 
evidently  his  mission  to  be  worshipped  by  the 


LOVE   IN   IDLENESS.  53 

three  Miss  Miners  and  to  be  liked  by  Miss  Tre- 
hearne,  who  did  not  like  everybody. 

"  I'm  sure  we've  missed  the  best  part  of  your 
visit,"  said  Miss  Cordelia. 

"  Oh,  no,"  answered  Brinsley,  promptly.  "  I've 
only  just  come  —  at  least  it  seems  so  to  me," 
he  added,  smiling  at  Fanny  across  the  tea- 
table. 

Lawrence  thought  he  must  have  been  in  the 
room  more  than  half  an  hour,  but  the  sisters 
were  all  delighted  by  the  news  that  their  idol 
meant  to  stay  some  time  longer. 

"  How  nice  it  would  be  if  everybody  made  such 
speeches  ! "  sighed  Miss  Augusta  to  Lawrence, 
who  was  next  to  her.  "  Such  a  charming  way  of 
making  Fanny  feel  that  she  talks  well !  I'm  sure 
he's  really  been  here  some  time." 

"  He  has,"  answered  Lawrence,  absently  and 
without  lowering  his  voice  enough,  for  Brinsley 
immediately  glanced  at  him. 

"  We've  been  having  such  a  pleasant  talk  about 
the  dogs  and  horses,"  said  the  Canadian,  willing 
to  be  disagreeable  to  the  one  other  man  present. 
"  I'm  afraid  we've  bored  Mr.  Lawrence  to  death, 


54  LOVE   IN    IDLENESS. 

Miss  Trehearne  —  he  doesn't  seem  to  care  for 
those  things  as  much  as  we  do." 

"  I  don't  know  anything  about  them,"  answered 
the  young  man. 

"  I'm  afraid  you'll  bore  yourself  in  Bar  Harbour, 
then,"  observed  Mr.  Brinsley.  "  What  can  you 
find  to  do  all  day  long  ?  " 

"  Nothing.     I'm  an  artist." 

"  Ah  ?  That's  very  nice  —  you'll  be  able  to  go 
out  sketching  with  Miss  Augusta  —  long  ex- 
cursions, don't  you  know  ?  All  day  —  " 

"  Oh,  I  shouldn't  dare  to  suggest  such  a  thing !  " 
cried  Miss  Augusta. 

"I'm  sure  I  should  be  very  happy,  if  you'd  like 
to  go,"  said  Lawrence,  politely  facing  the  dread- 
ful possibility  of  a  day  with  her  in  the  woods, 
while  Brinsley  would  in  all  likelihood  be  riding 
with  Fanny  or  taking  her  out  in  a  catboat. 

But  Miss  Augusta  paid  little  attention  to  him, 
so  long  as  Brinsley  was  talking,  which  was  most 
of  the  time.  The  man  did  not  say  anything 
worth  repeating,  but  Lawrence  knew  that  he  was 
far  from  stupid  in  spite  of  his  empty  talk.  At 
last  Lawrence  merely  looked  on,  controlling  his 


LOVE   IN   IDLENESS.  55 

nervousness  as  well  as  he  could  and  idly  watching 
the  faces  of  the  party.  Brinsley  talked  on  and 
on,  twisting  to  pieces  the  stem  of  a  flower  which 
he  had  worn  in  his  coat,  but  which  had  unaccount- 
ably broken  off. 

Lawrence  wondered  whether  Fanny,  too,  could 
be  under  the  charm,  and  he  watched  her  with 
some  anxiety.  There  was  something  oddly  in- 
scrutable in  the  young  girl's  face  and  in  her  quiet 
eyes  that  did  not  often  smile,  even  when  she 
laughed.  He  had  the  strong  impression,  and  he 
had  felt  it  before,  that  she  was  very  well  able  to 
conceal  her  real  thoughts  and  intentions  behind 
a  mask  of  genuine  frankness  and  straightforward- 
ness. There  are  certain  men  and  women  who 
possess  that  gift.  Without  ever  saying  a  word 
which  even  faintly  suggests  prevarication,  they 
'have  a  masterly  reticence  about  what  they  do  not 
wish  to  have  known,  whereby  their  acquaintances 
are  sometimes  more  completely  deceived  than 
they  could  be  by  the  most  ingenious  falsehood. 
Lawrence  was  quite  unable  to  judge  from  Fanny's 
face  whether  she  liked  Brinsley  or  not,  but  he 
was  wounded  by  a  certain  deference,  if  that  word 


56  LOVE   IN   IDLENESS. 

be  not  too  strong,  which  she  showed  for  the  man's 
opinion,  and  which  contrasted  slightly  with  the 
dictatorial  superiority  which  she  assumed  towards 
Lawrence  himself.  He  consoled  himself  as  well 
as  he  could  with  the  reflexion  that  he  really  knew 
nothing  about  dogs,  horses,  or  boats,  and  that 
Brinsley  was  certainly  his  master  in  all  such 
knowledge. 

As  an  artist,  he  could  not  but  admire  the  per- 
fect proportions  of  the  visitor,  the  strength  of 
him,  and  the  satisfactory  equilibrium  of  forces 
which  showed  itself  in  his  whole  physical  being; 
but  as  a  gentleman  he  was  repelled  by  something 
not  easily  defined,  and  as  a  lover  he  suspected  a 
rival.  He  had  not  much  right,  indeed,  to  believe 
that  Fanny  Trehearne  cared  especially  for  him, 
any  more  than  to  predicate  that  she  was  in  love 
with  Brinsley.  But,  being  in  love  himself,  he' 
very  naturally  arrogated  to  himself  such  a  right 
without  the  slightest  hesitation,  and  he  boldly 
asserted  in  his  heart  that  Brinsley  was  nothing 
but  a  very  handsome  '  cad,'  and  that  Fanny  Tre- 
hearne was  on  the  verge  of  marrying  him. 

The  conversation,  meanwhile,  was  lively  to  the 


LOVE   IN   IDLENESS.  57 

ear,  if  not  to  the  intelligence.  It  was  amazing  to 
see  how  the  three  spinsters  flattered  their  dar- 
ling at  every  turn.  Miss  Cordelia  led  the  cho- 
rus of  praise,  and  her  sisters,  to  speak  musically, 
took  up  the  theme,  and  answer,  and  counter- 
theme  of  the  fugue,  successively,  in  many  keys. 
There  was  nothing  that  Mr.  Brinsley  did  not 
know  and  could  not  do,  according  to  the  three 
Miss  Miners,  or  if  there  were  anything,  it  could 
not  be  worth  knowing  or  doing. 

"  You'll  flatter  Mr.  Brinsley  to  death,"  laughed 
Fanny,  "though  I  must  say  that  he  bears  it  well." 

A  faint  shade  of  colour  rose  in  Miss  Cordelia's 
pale  cheeks,  indicative  of  indignation. 

"  Fanny  !  "  she  cried  reprovingly.  "How  rude 
you  are !  I'm  sure  I  wasn't  saying  anything  at 
all  flattering." 

"  I  only  wish  people  would  say  such  things  to 
me,  then,"  retorted  the  young  girl. 

"  We're  all  quite  ready  to,  I'm  sure,  Miss  Tre- 
hearne,"  said  Brinsley,  smiling  in  a  way  that 
seemed  to  make  his  heavy  dark  mustache  retreat 
outward,  up  his  cheeks,  like  the  whiskers  of  a  cat 
when  it  grins. 


58  LOVE   IN   IDLENESS. 

Fanny  looked  round  and  met  Lawrence's 
eyes. 

"  You  seem  to  be  the  only  one  who  is  ready," 
she  said,  laughing  again.  "  One  isn't  a  crowd,  as 
the  little  boys  say." 

"  Where  do  you  get  such  expressions,  my  dear 
child  ?  "  asked  Cordelia.  "  I  really  think  you've 
learned  more  slang  since  you've  been  here  this 
summer,  though  I  shouldn't  have  believed  it 
possible  !  " 

"  There !  "  exclaimed  Fanny,  turning  to  Mr. 
Brinsley  again.  "  That's  the  kind  of  flattery 
my  relatives  lavish  on  me  from  morning  till 
night !  As  if  you  didn't  all  talk  slang,  the  whole 
time ! " 

"  Fanny!"  protested  Augusta,  whose  accom- 
plishments made  her  sensitive  and  conscious. 
"  How  can  you  say  so  ? " 

"  Well  —  dialect,  if  you  like  the  word  better. 
I'll  prove  it  you.  You  all  say  '  won't '  and 
'  shan't '  —  and  most  of  you  say  '  I'd  like  '  —  for 
instance  —  and  Mr.  Brinsley  says  c  ain't,'  because 
he's  English  —  " 

"  Well  —  what    ought    we    to    say  ?  "    asked 


LOVE  IN   IDLENESS.  59 

Augusta.  "  Nobody  says  '  I  will  not,'  and  all 
that." 

"  You  ought  to.  It's  dialect  not  to  —  and  the 
absurd  thing  is  that  people  who  go  in  for  writing 
books  generally  write  out  all  the  things  you  don't 
say,  and  write  them  in  the  wrong  order.  We 
say  '  wouldn't  you '  —  don't  we  ?  Well,  doesn't 
that  stand  for  *  would  not  you '  ?  And  yet  they 
print '  would  you  not '  —  always.  It's  ridiculous. 
I  read  a  criticism  the  other  day  on  a  man  who 
had  written  a  book  and  who  wrote  *  will  not  you ' 
for  *  won't  you  '  and  '  would  not  you  '  for  '  wouldn't 
you  '  because  he  wanted  to  be  accurate.  You've 
no  idea  what  horrid  things  the  critic  said  of  him 
—  he  simply  stood  on  his  hind  legs  and  pawed 
the  air !  It's  so  silly !  Either  we  should  speak 
as  we  write,  or  write  as  we  speak.  I  don't  mean 
in  philosophy  —  and  things  —  the  steam-engine 
and  the  descent  of  man,  and  all  that  —  but  in 
writing  out  conversations.  But  then,  of  course, 
nobody  will  agree  with  me  —  so  I  talk  as  I 
please." 

"  There's  a  great  deal  of  truth  in  what  you  say, 
Miss  Trehearne,"  observed  Brinsley,  assuming  a 


60  LOVE   IN   IDLENESS. 

wise  air.  "  Besides,  I  beg  to  differ  from  Miss 
Miner,  on  one  point  —  I  venture  to  say  that  I 
don't  dislike  your  slang,  if  it's  slang  at  all.  It's 
expressive,  of  its  kind." 

"  At  last !  "  cried  Fanny,  with  a  laugh.  "  I 
get  some  praise — faint,  but  perceptible." 

"  Faint  praise  isn't  supposed  to  be  complimen- 
tary," observed  Lawrence,  laughing  too. 

"  That's  true,"  answered  Fanny.  "  It's  just  the 
opposite  —  the  thing  with  a  d — .  I  won't  say 
it  on  account  of  Cordelia.  She'd  all  frizzle  up 
with  horror  if  I  said  it —  wouldn't  you,  dear? 
There 'd  positively  be  nothing  left  of  you  —  noth- 
ing but  a  dear  little  withered  rose-leaf  with  a 
dewdrop  in  the  middle,  representing  your  tears 
for  my  sins !  " 

"I'm  afraid  so,"  answered  Cordelia,  with  a 
little  accentuation  of  her  tired  smile. 

It  was  not  a  disagreeable  smile  in  itself, 
except  that  it  was  perpetual  and  was  the  expres- 
sion of  patiently  and  cheerfully  borne  adversity, 
rather  than  of  any  satisfaction  with  things  in 
general.  For  the  lives  of  the  three  Miss  Miners 
had  not  been  happy.  Sometimes  Fanny  felt  a 


LOVE  IN  IDLENESS.  61 

sincere  and  loving  pity  for  the  three,  and  espe- 
cially for  the  eldest.  But  there  were  also  times 
when  Cordelia's  smile  exasperated  her  beyond 
endurance. 

Mr.  Brinsley  rose  to  go,  rather  suddenly,  after 
checking  a  movement  of  his  hand  in  the  direc- 
tion of  his  watch. 

"  You're  not  going,  surely ! "  cried  one  or 
two  of  the  Miss  Miners.  "You're  coming  to 
dinner." 

"Stay  as  you  are,"  suggested  Fanny,  greatly 
to  Lawrence's  annoyance. 

"  You're  awfully  kind,"  answered  the  Canadian. 
"  But  I  can't,  to-night.  I  wish  I  could.  I've 
asked  several  people  to  dine  with  me  at  the 
Kebo  Valley  Club.  I'd  cut  any  other  engage- 
ment, to  dine  with  you  —  indeed  I  would.  I'm 
awfully  sorry." 

Many  regrets  were  expressed  that  he  could 
not  stay,  and  the  leave-taking  seemed  sudden  to 
Lawrence,  who  stood  looking  on,  still  wondering 
why  he  disliked  the  man  so  much.  At  last  he 
heard  the  front  door  closed  behind  him. 

"  Who  is  Mr.  Brinsley  ? "  he  asked   of  Fanny 


62  LOVE   IN   IDLENESS. 

Trehearne,  while  the  three  Miss  Miners  were 
settling  themselves  again. 

"  Oh  —  I  don't  know.  I  believe  he's  a  Cana- 
dian Englishman.  He's  very  agreeable  —  don't 
you  think  so  ?  " 

"  He's  the  most  delightful  man  I  ever  met !  " 
sighed  Augusta  Miner,  before  Lawrence  had 
time  to  say  anything. 

"  Did  you  notice  his  eyes,  Mr.  Lawrence  ? " 
asked  Miss  Elizabeth.  "  Don't  you  think  they're 
beautiful  ? " 

"  Beautiful  ?  Well  —  it  depends,"  Lawrence 
answered  with  considerable  hesitation,  for  he  did 
not  in  the  least  know  what  to  say. 

"  Oh,  but  it  isn't  his  eyes,  nor  his  conversa- 
tion ! "  put  in  Cordelia,  emphatically.  "  It  is 
that  he's  such  a  perfect  gentleman !  You  feel 
that  he  wouldn't  do  anything  that  wasn't  quite 
—  quite  —  don't  you  know?" 

"  I'm  not  sure  that  I  do,"  replied  Lawrence,  in 
some  bewilderment.  "  But  I  understand  what 
you  mean,"  he  added  confidently. 

"  My  dear,"  said  Augusta  to  her  eldest  sister, 
"  all  that  is  perfectly  true,  as  I  always  say.  But 


LOVE  IN  IDLENESS.  63 

those  are  not  the  things  that  make  him  the  most 
charming  man  I  ever  met.  Oh  dear,  no !  Ever 
so  many  men  one  knows  have  good  eyes,  and 
talk  well,  and  are  gentlemen  in  every  way.  I'm 
sure  you  wouldn't  have  a  man  about  if  he  wasn't 
a  gentleman.  Would  you  ?  " 

"Oh  no — in  a  wider  sense  —  all  the  men  we 
have  to  do  with  are,  of  course  — " 

"Well,"  argued  Augusta,  "  that's  just  what  I'm 
telling  you,  my  dear.  It  isn't  those  things.  It 
lies  much  deeper.  It's  a  sort  of  refined  appre- 
ciation —  an  appreciative  refinement  —  both,  you 
know.  Now,  the  other  day,  do  you  remember  ? 
—  when  I  was  playing  that  Mazurka  of  Chopin  — 
did  you  notice  his  expression  ?  " 

"  But  he  always  has  that  expression  when  any- 
thing pleases  him  very  much,"  said  Miss  Eliza- 
beth. 

"  Yes,  I  know.  But  just  then,  it  was  quite 
extraordinary  —  there's  something  almost  child- 
like—" 

"  If  you  go  on  about  Mr.  Brinsley  in  this  way 
much  longer,  you'll  all  have  a  fit,"  observed 
Fanny  Trehearne. 


64  LOVE   IN   IDLENESS. 

"  My  dear,"  answered  Cordelia,  gravely,  "  do 
you  know  what  a  'fit 'means?  Really,  sometimes, 
you  do  exaggerate  —  " 

"  A  fit  means  convulsions  —  what  babies  have, 
you  know.  They  used  to  say  it  was  brought  on 
by  looking  at  the  moon." 

Lawrence  felt  a  strong  inclination  to  laugh 
at  this  moment,  but  he  controlled  it,  and  only 
smiled.  Then,  to  his  considerable  embarrass- 
ment, they  all  appealed  to  him,  probably  in  the 
hope  of  more  praise  for  Brinsley. 

"  Do  tell  us  how  he  strikes  you,  Mr.  Law- 
rence," said  Cordelia. 

"  Yes,  do  !  "  echoed  Elizabeth. 

"  Oh,  please  do!"  cried  Augusta,  at  the  same 
moment. 

"  I  should  be  curious  to  know  what  you  think 
of  him,"  said  Fanny  Trehearne. 

"  Well,  really,"  stammered  the  unfortunate 
young  man,  "  I've  hardly  seen  him  —  I've  not 
had  time  to  form  an  opinion  —  you  must  know 
him,  and  you  all  like  him,  and — it  seems  to  me 
—that  settles  it.  Doesn't  it?" 

While  Lawrence  was  speaking,  Miss  Cordelia 


LOVE  IN   IDLENESS. 


65 


stooped  and  picked  something  up  from  the  floor. 
He  noticed  that  it  was  the  leafless  stem  of  the 
flower  which  Brinsley  had  been  twisting  in  his 
fingers.  She  did  not  throw  it  away,  but  her 
hand  closed  over  it,  and  Lawrence  did  not  see 
it  again. 


CHAPTER   V. 

1OUIS  LAWRENCE  had  not  been 
at  Bar  Harbour  a  week  before  he 
became  fully  aware  —  if  indeed  there 
had  previously  been  any  doubt  on 
the  subject  in  his  mind  —  that  he  was  very  much 
in  love  with  Fanny  Trehearne.  It  became  clear 
to  him  that,  although  he  had  believed  himself  to 
be  in  love  once  or  twice  before  then,  he  had  been 
mistaken,  and  that  he  had  never  known  until 
the  present  time  exactly  what  love  meant.  He 
was  not  even  sure  that  he  was  pleased  with  the 
passion,  or,  at  least,  with  the  form  in  which  it 
attacked  him.  Sensitive  as  he  was,  it '  took  him 
hard,'  as  the  saying  is,  and  he  felt  that  it  had 
the  better  of  him  at  every  turn,  and  disposed  of 
him  in  spite  of  himself  at  every  hour  of  the  day. 

66 


LOVE   IN    IDLENESS.  67 

When  he  was  alone  he  wondered  why  he 
had  been  asked  to  the  house,  and  whether  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Trehearne,  who  were  abroad,  knew 
anything  about  it.  He  was  a  modest  man,  and 
was  inclined  to  underestimate  himself,  so  that 
it  could  never  have  occurred  to  him  that  Fanny 
Trehearne  might  have  been  strongly  attracted 
by  him  during  their  acquaintance  in  town,  and 
might  have  insisted  that  he  should  be  asked  to 
come  and  pass  a  fortnight.  Moreover,  Fanny 
lost  no  opportunity  of  impressing  upon  him  that 
he  was  a  great  favourite  with  the  three  Miss 
Miners,  and  she  managed  to  convey  the  impres- 
sion that  he  had  been  asked  chiefly  to  please 
them,  though  she  never  said  so. 

Meanwhile,  however,  it  was  evident  that  the 
three  sisters  were  absorbed  in  Mr.  Brinsley,  and 
that  when  the  latter  was  present  they  took  very 
little  notice  of  Lawrence.  He  laughed  at  the 
thought  that  the  three  old  maids  should  all  be 
equally  in  love  with  the  showy  Canadian,  and  he 
told  himself  that  the  thing  was  ridiculous;  that 
they  were  merely  enthusiastic  women,  — '  gush- 
ing' women,  he  called  them  in  his  thoughts, — 


68  LOVE  IN   IDLENESS. 

who  were  flattered  by  the  diplomatic  and  unfail- 
ing civilities  of  a  man  who  was  evidently  in 
pursuit  of  Fanny  Trehearne. 

For  by  this  tima  he  was  convinced  that  Brins- 
ley  had  made  up  his  mind  to  marry  Fanny  if 
he  could ;  and  he  hated  him  all  the  more  for  it, 
even  to  formulating  wicked  prayers  for  the 
suitor's  immediate  destruction.  The  worst  of 
it  was,  that  the  man  might  possibly  succeed. 
A  girl  who  will  and  can  ride  anything,  who 
beats  everybody  at  tennis,  and  who  is  as  good 
as  most  men  in  a  sail-boat,  may  naturally  be 
supposed  to  admire  a  man  who  does  those  things, 
and  many  others,  in  a  style  bordering  upon  per- 
fection. This  same  man,  too,  though  not  exactly 
clever  in  an  intellectual  way,  possessed  at  least 
the  gifts  of  fluency  and  tact,  combined  with 
great  coolness  under  all  circumstances,  so  far 
as  Lawrence  had  observed  him.  It  was  hardly 
fair  to  assert  that  he  was  dishonest  because  he 
flattered  the  three  Miss  Miners,  and  occupied 
himself  largely  in  trying  to  anticipate  their  small- 
est wishes.  He  did  it  so  well  as  to  make  even 
Fanny  Trehearne  believe  that  he  liked  them 


LOVE  IN  IDLENESS.  69 

for  their  own  sakes,  and  that  his  intentions  were 
disinterested  and  not  directed  wholly  to  herself. 
Of  course  she  knew  that  he  wished  to  marry 
her;  but  she  was  used  to  that.  Two,  at  least, 
of  several  men  who  had  already  informed  her 
that  their  happiness  depended  upon  winning  her, 
were  even  now  in  Bar  Harbour,  —  presumably 
repeating  that  or  a  similar  statement  to  more 
or  less  willing  ears.  As  for  Lawrence,  he  could 
not  fairly  blame  Brinsley  for  his  behaviour  — 
he  confessed  in  secret  that  he  flattered  the  three 
Miss  Miners  himself,  with  small  regard  for  un- 
prejudiced truth.  Besides,  they  were  very  kind 
to  him.  But  he  found  it  hard  to  speak  fairly 
of  Brinsley  when  alone  with  Fanny  Trehearne. 

"  I  don't  like  the  man,"  he  said,  on  inadequate 
provocation,  for  the  twentieth  time. 

"  I  know  you  don't,"  answered  Fanny,  calmly, 
"  but  that's  no  reason  for  letting  go  of  the  tiller. 
Mind  the  boom !  she's  going  about  —  no  —  it's 
of  no  use  to  put  the  helm  up  now.  We've  no 
way  on  —  let  her  go !  No  —  I  don't  mean  that 
—  oh,  do  give  it  to  me ! " 

And    thereupon    Fanny,  who  was  sitting  for- 


70  LOVE  IN  IDLENESS. 

ward  of  him  on  the  weather  side,  stretched  her 
long  arm  across  him,  pushing  him  back  into  his 
corner,  and  put  the  helm  hard  down  with  her  left 
hand,  while  she  hauled  in  the  sheet  as  much  as 
she  could  with  her  right,  bending  her  head  low 
to  avoid  the  boom  as  it  came  swinging  over. 

Lawrence  could  not  help  looking  down  at  her, 
and  he  forgot  all  about  the  boom,  being  far  too 
little  familiar  with  boating  to  avoid  it  instinc- 
tively, when  he  felt  the  boat  going  about.  It 
came  slowly,  for  there  was  little  wind ;  and  the 
catboat,  having  no  way  on  to  speak  of,  was  in  no 
hurry  to  right  herself  and  go  over  on  the  other 
tack,  —  but  just  as  the  shadow  of  the  sail  warned 
him  that  something  was  coming,  he  looked  up, 
and  at  the  same  instant  received  the  blow  full 
on  his  forehead,  just  above  his  eyes.  He  wore 
a  soft,  knitted  woollen  cap,  which  did  not  even 
afford  the  protection  of  a  visor. 

Fanny  turned  her  head  at  once,  for  the  blow 
had  been  audible,  and  she  saw  what  had  hap- 
pened. Lawrence  had  raised  his  hand  to  his 
forehead  instinctively. 

"  Are  you  hurt  ?  "  asked   Fanny,  quickly,  keep- 


LOVE   IN   IDLENESS.  71 

ing  her  eyes  upon  him,  and  still  holding  the  helm 
hard  over  so  as  to  give  the  boat  way. 

Lawrence  did  not  answer  at  once.  He  was 
half  stunned,  and  still  covered  his  forehead  with 
his  hand.  The  young  girl  looked  at  him  in- 
tently, and  there  was  an  expression  in  her  eyes 
which  he,  at  least,  had  never  seen  there  —  a  sud- 
den, scared  light  which  had  nothing  to  do  with 
fear. 

"  Are  you  hurt  ?  "  she  asked  again,  gently. 

His  delicate  face  grew  suddenly  pale,  as  the 
blood,  which  had  rushed  up  at  first  under  the 
shock  of  the  blow,  subsided  as  suddenly.  Fanny 
turned  her  eyes  from  him  and  looked  ahead  and 
under  the  sail  to  leeward.  She  let  out  a  little 
more  sheet,  so  that  the  boat  could  run  very  free ; 
for  the  craft,  like  most  catboats,  had  a  weather 
helm  when  the  sheet  was  well  aft,  and  Fanny 
wanted  her  hands.  Moreover,  Lawrence  was 
now  on  the  lee  side  with  her,  and  the  boat  would 
have  heeled  too  far  over  with  the  wind  abeam. 
As  soon  as  the  sail  drew  properly,  Fanny  sat  up 
beside  Lawrence,  steering  across  him  with  her 
left  hand.  With  her  right  she  could  reach  the 

4— Vol.  9 


72  LOVE  IN  IDLENESS. 

water,  and  she  scooped  up  what  she  could  in  her 
hollow  palm,  wetting  her  sleeve  to  the  shoulder 
as  she  did  so,  for  the  boat  was  gaining  speed. 
She  dashed  the  drops  in  his  face. 

"  Are  you  hurt  ? "  she  asked  a  third  time, 
drawing  away  his  hand  and  laying  her  own  wet 
one  upon  his  forehead. 

"Oh  no,"  he  answered  faintly.  "  I'm  not  hurt 
at  all." 

She  could  tell  by  his  voice  that  he  was  not 
speaking  the  truth,  and  a  moment  later,  as  he 
leaned  against  the  side  of  the  boat,  his  head  fell 
back,  and  his  lips  parted  in  a  dead  faint. 

There  was  no  scorn  in  the  young  girl's  face 
for  a  man  who  could  faint  so  easily,  as  it  seemed ; 
but  the  scared  look  came  into  her  eyes  again, 
and  without  hesitation,  still  steering  with  her 
left  hand,  she  passed  her  right  arm  round  his 
neck  and  supported  him.  The  breeze  was 
almost  in  her  face  now,  for  she  was  looking 
astern,  and  she  knew  by  the  way  it  fanned  her 
whether  she  was  keeping  the  boat  fairly  before  it. 

Lawrence  did  not  revive  immediately,  and  it 
was  fortunate  that  there  was  so  little  wind,  or 


LOVE   IN   IDLENESS.  73 

Fanny  might  have  got  into  trouble.  She  looked 
at  him  a  moment  longer  and  hesitated,  for  the 
position  was  a  difficult  one,  as  will  be  admitted. 
But  she  was  equal  to  it  and  knew  what  to  do. 
Letting  his  head  fall  back  as  it  would,  she  with- 
drew her  arm,  let  go  the  helm,  and  hauled  in  the 
sheet  as  the  boat's  head  came  up.  As  the  boom 
came  over  toward  Lawrence's  head,  she  caught 
it  and  lifted  it  over  him,  hauled  in  the  slack  and 
made  the  sheet  fast,  springing  forward  instantly 
to  let  go  the  halliards.  The  gaff  came  rattling 
down,  and  she  gathered  in  the  bellying  sail 
hastily  and  took  a  turn  round  everything  with 
the  end  of  the  throat  halliard,  which  chanced  to 
be  long  enough  —  the  gaskets  were  out  of  her 
reach,  in  the  bottom  of  the  boat. 

There  was  little  or  no  sea  on,  as  the  tide  was 
near  the  turning,  and  the  catboat  was  rocking 
softly  to  the  little  waves  when  Fanny  came  aft 
again.  Lawrence's  head  was  still  hanging  back, 
his  lips  were  parted,  and  his  eyes  were  half  open, 
showing  the  whites  in  a  rather  ghastly  way. 
With  strong  arms  the  young  girl  half  lifted  him, 
and  let  him  gently  down  upon  the  cushions  in 


74  LOVE   IN    IDLENESS. 

the  stern-sheets.  Then  she  leaned  over  the  side 
and  wetted  her  handkerchief  and  laid  it  upon 
his  bruised  forehead.  The  cold  water  and  the 
change  of  position  brought  him  to  himself. 

He  opened  his  eyes  and  looked  up  into  her 
face  as  she  bent  over  him.  Then,  all  at  once, 
he  seemed  to  realize  what  had  happened,  and 
with  an  exclamation  he  tried  to  sit  up.  But 
she  would  not  let  him. 

"  Lie  still  a  minute  longer !  "  she  said  authori- 
tatively. "  You'll  be  all  right  in  a  little  while." 

"  But  it  isn't  anything,  I  assure  you,"  he  pro- 
tested, looking  about  him  in  a  dazed  way. 
"  Please  let  me  sit  up !  I  won't  make  a  fool 
of  myself  again  —  it's  only  my  heart,  you  know. 
It  stops  sometimes  —  it  wasn't  the  knock." 

"  Your  heart  ? "  repeated  Fanny,  with  greater 
anxiety  than  Lawrence  might  have  expected. 
"  You  haven't  got  heart  disease,  have  you  ?  " 

"  Oh  no  —  not  so  bad  as  that.  It's  all  right 
now.  It  will  begin  to  beat  very  hard  presently 
—  there  —  I  can  feel  it  —  and  then  it  will  go  on 
regularly  again.  It  isn't  anything.  I  fancy  I 
smoke  too  much — or  it's  coffee  —  or  something. 


LOVE   IN   IDLENESS.  75 

Please  don't  look  as  though  you  thought  it  were 
anything  serious,  Miss  Trehearne.  I  assure  you, 
it's  nothing.  Lots  of  people  have  it." 

"  It  is  serious.  Anything  that  has  to  do  with 
the  heart  is  serious." 

Lawrence  smiled  faintly. 

"  Is  that  a  joke  ?  "  he  asked.  "  If  it  is,  please 
let  me  sit  up." 

"No  —  that  isn't  a  reason,"  answered  Fanny, 
laughing  a  little,  though  her  eyes  were  still  grave. 
"  You  must  lie  still  a  little  longer.  You  might 
faint  again,  you  know.  It  must  be  dangerous  to 
have  one's  heart  Behaving  so  strangely." 

"  Oh  —  I  don't  believe  so." 

"  You  don't  believe  so  ?  You  mean  that  it's 
possible,  but  that  you  hope  it  won't  stop  ?  Is 
that  it  ?  " 

"  Oh  —  well  —  perhaps.  But  I  don't  think 
there's  any  real  danger.  Besides  —  if  it  did,  it's 
easy,  you  know." 

"  What's  easy  ?  " 

"  It's  an  easy  death  —  over  at  once,  in  a  flash. 
No  lingering  and  last  words  and  all  that."  He 
laughed. 


76  LOVE   IN   IDLENESS. 

Fanny  Trehearne's  sunburned  cheeks  grew 
pale  under  their  tan,  and  her  cool  grey  eyes 
turned  slowly  away  from  his  face,  and  rested  on 
the  blue  water. 

"  Please  don't  talk  about  such  things  !  "  she 
said  in  a  tone  that  seemed  hard  to  Lawrence. 

"Are  you  afraid  of  death  ? "  he  asked,  still 
smiling. 

"  I  ?  "  She  turned  upon  him  indignantly. 
"No — I  don't  believe  that  I'm  much  afraid  of 
anything  —  for  myself." 

"  You  turned  pale,"  observed  the  young  man, 
raising  himself  on  his  elbow  as  he  lay  on  the 
cushions,  and  looking  at  her.  Her  colour  came 
back  more  quickly  than  it  had  gone. 

"  Did  I  ? "  she  asked  indifferently  enough. 
"  It's  probably  the  sun.  It's  hot,  lying  here  and 
drifting." 

"  No.  It  wasn't  the  sun,"  said  Lawrence,  with 
conviction.  "  You  were  thinking  that  somebody 
you  are  fond  of  might  die  suddenly.  We  were 
talking  about  death." 

"  What  difference  does  it  make  whom  I  was 
thinking  of  ?  "  She  spoke  impatiently  now,  still 
watching  the  water. 


LOVE  IN   IDLENESS.  77 

"  It  makes  all  the  difference  there  is,  that's 
all,"  answered  Lawrence.  "  Won't  you  tell  me  ?  " 

"  No.  Certainly  not !  Why  should  I  ?  Look 
here  —  if  you're  well  enough  to  talk,  you're  well 
enough  to  help  me  to  get  the  sail  up  again." 

"  Of  course  I  am  —  but  —  "  Lawrence  showed 
no  inclination  to  move. 

"  But  what  ?  You're  too  lazy,  I  suppose." 
Fanny  laughed.  "Let  me  see  your  forehead  — 
take  your  cap  off,"  she  added,  with  a  change  of 
tone. 

Lawrence  thrust  the  cap  back,  which  did  not 

,  help   matters    much,  as   his    hair  grew  low  and 

partially   hid    the    bruise.       The    skin    was    not 

broken,  but  it  was    almost  purple,  and    a   large 

swelling  had  already  appeared'. 

"  It's  too  bad !  "  exclaimed  Fanny,  looking  at 
it,  as  he  bent  down  his  head,  and  softly  touching 
it  with  her  ungloved  hand.  "Tell  me  —  do  you 
feel  very  weak  and  dizzy  still  ?  I  was  only 
laughing  when  I  spoke  of  your  helping  me  with 
the  sail." 

"  Oh  no  !  "  answered  Lawrence,  cheerfully.  "  It 
aches  a  little,  of  course,  but  it  will  soon  go  off." 


78  LOVE   IN   IDLENESS. 

"  And  your  heart  ?  "  asked  Fanny,  anxiously. 
"  Is  it  all  right  now  ?  You  don't  think  you'll 
faint  again,  do  you  ?  " 

"  Not  a  bit." 

"  I'm  not  sure.     You're  very  pale." 

"  I'm  always  pale,  you  know.  It's  my  nature 
It  doesn't  mean  anything.  Some  people  are 
naturally  pale." 

"  But  you're  not.  You're  dark,  or  brown,  and 
not  red,  but  you're  not  usually  pale.  I  wish  I 
had  some  whiskey,  or  something,  to  give  you." 

She  looked  round  the   boat  rather  helplessly, 
as  though  expecting   to  discover   a   remedy  for. 
his  weakness. 

"  Please  don't  make  so  much  of  it,"  said  Law- 
rence, in  a  tone  which  showed  that  he  was 
almost  annoyed  by  her  persistence.  "  I  assure 
you  that  I  won't  have  such  bad  taste  as  to  die 
on  your  hands  before  we  get  to  land ! " 

Fanny  rose  to  her  feet  and  turned  away  from 
him  with  an  impatient  exclamation. 

"  Just  keep  the  helm  amidships  while  I  get 
the  sail  up,"  she  said,  without  looking  at  him, 
and  stepping  upon  the  seat  which  ran  along  the 


LOVE   IN   IDLENESS.  79 

side,  she  was  on  the  little  deck  in  a  moment, 
with  both  halliards  in  her  hands. 

Lawrence  sprang  forward  to  help  her,  forget- 
ting what  she  had  just  told  him  to  do. 

"  Do  as  I  told  you ! "  she  exclaimed  quickly 
and  impatiently.  "  Do  you  know  what  the  tiller 
is  ?  Well,  keep  it  right  in  the  middle  till  I  tell 
you  to  do  something  else." 

"  Don't  be  fierce  about  it,"  laughed  Lawrence, 
obeying  her. 

But  when  she  was  not  looking,  he  pressed  one 
hand  to  his  forehead  with  all  his  might,  as  though 
to  drive  out  the  pain,  which  increased  with  every 
minute. 

Meanwhile,  Fanny  laid  her  weight  to  the 
halliards,  and  the  sail  went  flapping  up,  throat 
and  peak.  The  girl  was  very  strong,  and  had 
been  taught  to  handle  a  catboat  when  she  had 
been  a  mere  child,  so  that  there  was  nothing 
extraordinary  in  her  accomplishing  unaided  a 
little  feat  which  would  have  puzzled  many  a 
smart  young  gentleman  who  fancies  himself  half 
a  sailor. 


CHAPTER    VI. 

T  chanced  that  on  that  evening  Roger 
Brinsley  was  to  dine  with  the  Miss 
Miners.  He  was  often  asked,  and  he 
accepted  as  often  as  he  could.  As 
a  matter  of  fact,  he  was  not  so  much  sought  after 
elsewhere,  as  he  was  willing  to  let  the  four  ladies 
believe,  for  there  were  people  in  Bar  Harbour 
who  shared  Lawrence's  distrust  of  him,  while 
admitting  that,  so  far  as  they  could  tell,  it  was 
quite  unfounded.  There  was  nothing  against 
him.  The  men  said  that  he  played  a  good  deal 
at  the  club,  and  remarked  that  he  was  a  good 
type  of  the  professional  gambler,  but  no  one  ever 
said  that  he  won  too  much.  On  the  contrary, 
it  was  believed  that  he  had  lost  altogether  rather 

So 


LOVE  IN   IDLENESS.  81 

heavily  during  the  six  weeks  since  he  had  first 
appeared.  He  paid  cheerfully,  however,  and  was 
thought  to  be  rich.  Nevertheless,  the  men 
whose  opinion  was  worth  having  did  not  like 
him.  They  wondered  why  the  Miss  Miners  had 
him  so  often  to  the  house,  and  whether  there 
were  not  some  danger  that  Fanny  Trehearne 
might  take  a  fancy  to  him. 

It  was  very  late  when  Fanny  and  Lawrence 
got  home,  for  the  catboat  had  been  carried  far 
up  Frenchman's  Bay  during  the  time  after  the 
little  accident,  and  it  had  been  necessary  to  beat 
to  windward  for  two  hours  against  the  rising  tide 
in  order  to  fetch  the  channel  between  Bar  Island 
and  Sheep  Porcupine.  The  consequence  was 
that  the  pair  had  scarcely  time  to  dress  for 
dinner  after  they  reached  the  house. 

Lawrence  felt  ill  and  tired,  and  was  conscious 
that  the  swelling  on  his  forehead  was  not  beauti- 
ful to  see.  He  was  still  dazed,  and  by  no  means 
himself,  when  he  looked  into  the  glass  and 
knotted  his  tie.  But  though  he  might  well  have 
given  an  excuse  and  stayed  in  his  room  instead 
of  going  down  to  dinner,  he  refused  to  consider 


82  LOVE   IN   IDLENESS. 

the  possibility  of  such  a  thing  even  for  a  moment. 
He  felt  something  just  then  which  more  than 
compensated  him  for  his  bruises  and  his  wretched 
sensation  of  weakness. 

The  conversation,  after  the  boat  had  got  under 
way  again,  had  languished,  and  had  been  so  con- 
stantly interrupted  by  the  often  repeated  opera- 
tion of  going  about,  that  Lawrence  had  not 
succeeded  in  bringing  it  back  to  the  point  at 
which  Fanny  had  broken  it  off  when  she  had 
gone  forward  to  hoist  the  sail.  But  he  had  more 
than  half  guessed  what  might  have  followed,  and 
the  reasonable  belief  that  he  might  be  right  had 
changed  the  face  of  his  world.  He  believed  that 
Fanny  had  turned  pale  at  the  idea  that  his  life 
was  in  danger. 

One  smiles  at  the  simplicity  of  the  thought,  in 
black  and  white,  by  itself,  just  itself,  and  nothing 
more.  Yet  it  was  a  great  matter  to  Louis  Law- 
rence, and  as  he  looked  at  his  bruised  face  in  the 
glass  he  felt  that  he  was  too  happy  to  shut  him- 
self up  in  his  room  for  the  evening,  out  of  sight 
of  the  cool  grey  eyes  he  loved. 

He  had  assuredly  not  meant  to  frighten  Fanny 


LOVE  IN   IDLENESS.  83 

when  he  had  spoken,  and  he  had  been  very  far 
from  inventing  an  imaginary  ailment  with  which 
to  excite  her  sympathy.  The  whole  thing  had 
come  up  unexpectedly  as  the  result  of  the  acci- 
dent. Hence  its  value. 

As  often  happens,  the  two  people  in  the  house 
who  had  been  most  hurried  in  dressing  were  the 
first  down,  and  as  Lawrence  entered  the  library  he 
heard  Fanny's  footstep  behind  him.  He  bowed  as 
they  came  forward  together  to  the  empty  fireplace. 
She  looked  at  him  critically  before  she  spoke. 

"  You're  badly  knocked  about.  How  do  you 
feel  ?  "  There  was  a  man-like  directness  in  her 
way  of  asking  questions,  which  was  softened  by 
the  beauty  of  her  voice. 

"  I  feel  —  as  I  never  felt  before,"  answered 
Lawrence,  conscious  that  his  eyes  grew  dark  as 
they  met  hers.  "  You  told  me  something  to-day 
—  though  you  did  not  say  it." 

Fanny  did  not  avoid  his  gaze. 

"  Did  I  ? "  she  asked  very  gravely. 

"  Yes.     Plainly." 

"  I  am  very  sorry,"  she  answered,  with  a  little 
sigh,  and  turning  from  him  at  last. 


84  LOVE  IN   IDLENESS. 

"  Are  you  taking  it  back  ? "  Louis's  voice 
trembled  as  he  asked  the  question. 

"  Hush !  " 

Just  then  the  voices  of  the  three  Miss  Miners 
were  heard  in  the  hall,  and  at  the  same  instant 
the  distant  tinkle  of  the  front-door  bell  an- 
nounced the  arrival  of  Roger  Brinsley. 

The  conversation  turned  upon  Lawrence's 
accident,  from  the  first,  as  was  natural,  consider- 
ing his  appearance.  He  dwelt  laughingly  on  his 
utter  helplessness  in  a  boat,  while  Fanny  was 
inclined  to  consider  the  whole  affair  as  rather 
serious.  For  some  reason  or  other  Brinsley  was 
displeased  at  it,  and  ventured  to  say  a  disagree- 
able thing.  He  had  lost  at  cards  in  the  after- 
noon, and  was  in  bad  humour.  He  spoke  to 
Fanny  with  affected  apprehension. 

"  You  really  ought  to  take  somebody  with  you 
who  knows  enough  to  lend  a  hand  at  a  pinch, 
Miss  Trehearne,"  he  said.  "  Suppose  that  you 
got  into  a  squall  and  had  to  take  a  reef  —  you'd 
be  in  a  bad  way,  you  know." 

"  If  I  couldn't  manage  a  catboat  alone,  I'd 
walk,"  answered  Fanny,  with  contempt. 


LOVE  IN  IDLENESS.  85 

"  Yes — no  doubt.  But  if  a  squall  really  came 
up,  what  would  you  do  ?  Mr.  Lawrence  con- 
fesses that  he  couldn't  help  you." 

"  Are  you  chaffing,  Mr.  Brinsley  ? "  asked 
Fanny,  severely.  "  Or  do  you  think  I  really 
shouldn't  know  what  to  do  ? " 

"  I  doubt  whether  you  would." 

"Oh— I'd  let  go  the  halliards  and  lash  the 
helm  amidships,  and  take  my  reef  with  the  sail 
down  — '  hoist  'em  up  and  off  again,'  after  that, 
as  the  fishermen  say." 

"  I  think  you  could  stand  an  examination," 
said  Brinsley. 

"  I  daresay.  Could  you  ?  If  you  were  going 
about  off  a  lee  shore  in  a  storm  and  missed 
stays,  could  you  club-haul  your  ship,  Mr. 
Brinsley  ?  " 

The  three  Miss  Miners  stared  at  the  two  in 
surprise  and  wonder,  not  understanding  a  word 
of  what  they  were  saying.  It  was  apparent  to 
Lawrence,  however,  that  Fanny  was  bent  on 
putting  Brinsley  in  the  position  of  confessing  his 
ignorance  at  last ;  but  where  the  young  girl  had 
learned  even  the  language  of  seamanship,  which 


36  LOVE  IN  IDLENESS. 

she  used  with  such  apparent  precision,  was  more 
than  Lawrence  could  guess.  Brinsley  did  not 
answer  at  once,  and  Fanny  pressed  him. 

"  Do  you  even  know  what  club-hauling 
means  ?  "  she  asked,  mercilessly. 

"  Well  —  no  —  really,  I  think  the  term  must 
be  obsolete." 

"  Not  at  sea,"  retorted  Fanny. 

This  was  crushing,  and  Brinsley,  who  was 
really  a  very  good  hand  at  ordinary  sailing,  grew 
angry. 

"  Of  course  you've  had  some  experience  in 
catboats,"  Fanny  continued.  "  That  isn't  serious 
sailing,  you  know.  It's  about  equivalent,  in  horse- 
manship, to  riding  a  donkey  —  a  degree  less  dig- 
nified than  walking,  and  a  little  less  trouble." 

"  I  won't  say  anything  about  myself,  Miss 
Trehearne,"  said  Brinsley,  "  but  you  might  treat 
the  catboat  a  little  less  roughly.  I  didn't  know 
you'd  ever  sailed  anything  else." 

Here  the  Miss  Miners  interposed,  one  after 
the  other,  protesting  that  it  was  not  fair  to  use 
up  the  opportunities  of  conversation  in  such 
nautical  jargon. 


LOVE   IN   IDLENESS.  87 

"  I  only  wished  to  prove  to  Mr.  Brinsley  that 
I'm  to  be  trusted  at  sea,"  Fanny  answered. 

"  My  dear  child,"  said  Miss  Cordelia,  "  Mr. 
Brinsley  knows  that,  and  he  must  be  a  good 
judge,  having  been  in  the  navy." 

"  Oh,  I  didn't  know  you'd  been  in  the  navy, 
Mr.  Brinsley,"  said  the  pitiless  young  girl,  fixing 
her  eyes  on  his  with  an  expression  which  he,  per- 
haps, understood,  though  no  one  else  noticed  it. 
"  The  English  navy,  of  course  ?  " 

"  The  English  navy,"  repeated  Mr.  Brinsley, 
sharply. 

"  Oh,  well  —  that  accounts  for  your  not  know- 
ing how  to  club-haul  a  ship.  Your  own  people 
are  always  saying  that  your  service  is  going  to 
the  dogs." 

Even  Lawrence  was  surprised,  and  Brinsley 
looked  angrily  across  the  table  at  his  tormentor, 
but  found  nothing  to  say  on  the  spur  of  the 
moment. 

"  However,"  Fanny  continued  with  some  con- 
descension, "  I'm  rather  glad  to  know  you're  a 
navy  man.  I'll  get  you  to  come  out  with  me 
some  day  and  verify  some  of  the  bearings  on  our 


88  LOVE  IN  IDLENESS. 

local  chart.  I  believe  there  are  one  or  two  mis- 
takes. We'll  take  the  sextant  and  my  chronom- 
eter with  us,  and  the  tables,  and  take  the  sun  — 
each  of  us,  you  know,  and  work  it  out  separately, 
and  see  how  near  we  get.  That  will  be  great 
fun.  You  must  all  come  and  see  Mr.  Brinsley 
and  me  take  the  sun,"  she  added,  looking  round 
at  the  others.  "  Let's  go  to-morrow.  We'll  take 
our  luncheon  with  us  and  picnic  on  board.  Can 
you  come  to-morrow,  Mr.  Brinsley  ?  We  must 
start  at  eleven  so  as  to  get  far  enough  out  to 
have  a  horizon  by  noon.  I  hope  you're  not  en- 
gaged ?  Are  you  ?  " 

"  I'm  sorry  to  say  I  am,"  answered  the  unfor- 
tunate man.  "  I'm  going  to  ride  with  some  peo- 
ple just  at  that  hour." 

"  How  unlucky ! "  exclaimed  Fanny,  who  had 
expected  the  refusal.  "  I'll  take  Mr.  Lawrence, 
anyhow,  and  give  him  a  lesson  in  navigation." 

"  I've  had  one  to-day,"  said  Lawrence,  affecting 
to  laugh,  for  it  was  his  instinct  to  try  and  turn 
off  any  conversation  from  a  disagreeable  subject. 

"  You'll  be  all  the  better  for  another  to-mor- 
row," answered  Fanny. 


LOVE   IN   IDLENESS.  89 

As  she  spoke  to  the  artist,  her  tone  changed 
so  perceptibly  that  even  the  Miss  Miners  noticed 
it.  Brinsley  took  the  first  opportunity  of  talking 
to  Miss  Cordelia,  of  whose  admiration  he  was 
sure,  and  the  rest  of  the  dinner  passed  off  in 
peace,  Brinsley  avoiding  a  renewal  of  hostilities 
with  something  almost  like  fear,  for  he  felt  that 
the  extraordinary  young  girl  who  knew  so  much 
about  navigation  was  watching  for  another  op- 
portunity of  humiliating  him,  and  would  not  be 
merciful  in  using  it. 

The  change  in  .her  manner  to  him  had  been 
very  sudden,  as  though  she  had  on  that  partic- 
ular day  made  up  her  mind  about  something 
concerning  him.  Hitherto  she  had  treated  him 
almost  cordially,  certainly  with  every  appearance 
of  liking  him.  He  had  even  of  late  begun  to 
fancy  that  her  colour  heightened  when  he  entered 
the  room,  —  a  phenomenon  which,  if  real,  was 
attributable  rather  to  another  cause,  and  con- 
nected with  Lawrence's  presence  in  the  house. 

After  dinner  the  whole  party  went  out  upon  the 
verandah,  a  favourite  manoeuvre  of  Miss  Cor- 
delia's, whereby  the  society  of  Mr.  Brinsley  was 


90  LOVE   IN   IDLENESS. 

not  wasted  upon  smoke  and  men's  talk  in  the 
dining-room.  This  evening,  however,  instead  of 
sitting  down  at  once  in  her  usual  place,  Cordelia 
slipped  her  arm  through  Fanny's,  and  led  her  off 
to  the  other  side  and  down  the  steps  into  the 
garden. 

"  The  moonlight  is  so  lovely,"  said  Miss  Cor- 
delia, "  and  I  want  to  talk  to  you.  Let  us  walk 
a  little  —  do  you  mind  ?  " 

The  two  went  along  the  path  in  silence,  in  and 
out  among  the  trees.  The  moon  was  full.  From 
the  sea  came  up  the  sound  of  the  tide,  washing 
the  smooth  rocks  at  high  water.  The  breeze 
had  died  away  at  sunset  and  the  deep  sky  was 
cloudless.  Here  and  there  the  greater  stars 
twinkled  softly,  but  the  little  ones  were  all  lost  in 
the  moonlight,  like  diamonds  in  a  pure  fountain. 
Everything  was  asleep  except  the  watchful,  wake- 
ful sea.  The  two  women  stood  still  and  looked 
across  the  lawn.  At  last  Miss  Miner  spoke. 

"Why  were  you  so  unkind  to  Mr.  Brinsley 
to-night  ?  "  she  asked  in  a  low  voice. 

Fanny  glanced  at  her  before  she  answered. 
The  eldest  Miss  Miner's  face  had  once  been 


LOVE   IN   IDLENESS. 


91 


almost  beautiful.  In  the  moonlight,  the  delicate, 
clearly  chiselled  features  were  lovely  still,  but  a 
little  ghostly,  and  the  young  girl  saw  that  the 
fixed  smile  had  disappeared  for  once,  leaving  a 
look  of  pain  in  its  place. 

"  I  didn't  mean  to  be  unkind,"  Fanny  began. 


"  That  is,"  she  added  quickly,  correcting  herself, 
"  I'm  not  quite  sure  of  what  I  meant.  I  think 
I  did  mean  to  hurt  him.  He's  so  strong,  and 
he's  always  showing  that  he  despises  Mr.  Law- 
rence, because  he  isn't  an  athlete.  As  though  a 
man  must  be  a  prize-fighter  to  be  nice  ! " 

"  Well  —  but  —  Mr.    Lawrence   doesn't   mind. 


92  LOVE  IN   IDLENESS. 

You  see  how  he  takes  it  all.  Why  should  you 
fight  battles  for  him  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  I  shouldn't.  But  —  why  should  you 
take  up  the  cudgels  for  Mr.  Brinsley?  He's 
quite  able  to  take  care  of  himself,  if  he  will  only 
tell  the  truth." 

"  If !  "  exclaimed  Miss  Cordelia,  in  ready  resent- 
ment. "  He's  the  most  truthful  man  alive." 

"  Oh  !  And  he  told  you  he  had  been  in  the 
English  navy." 

"  What  has  that  to  do  with  it?  Of  course  he 
has,  if  he  says  so." 

"  He's  unwise  to  say  so,  because  he  hasn't," 
answered  Fanny,  in  her  usual  direct  way. 

"  How  in  the  world  can  you  say  that  a  man  like 
Mr.  Brinsley  —  an  honourable  man,  I'm  sure  — 
is  telling  a  deliberate  falsehood  ?  I'm  surprised 
at  you,  Fanny  —  indeed  I  am  !  It  isn't  like  you." 

"  Did  you  ever  know  me  to  tell  you  anything 
that  wasn't  exactly  true  ?  "  asked  the  young  girl, 
looking  down  into  her  elderly  cousin's  sweet,  sad 
face,  fpr  she  was  much  the  taller. 

"  No  —  of  course  not  —  but  —  " 

"  Well,  Cousin   Cordelia,   I   tell  you  that  your 


LOVE   IN   IDLENESS.  93 

Mr.  Brinsley  has  never  been  in  the  English  navy. 
I  don't  say  that  I  think  so.  I  say  that  I  know  it. 
Will  you  believe  me,  or  him  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Fanny  ! "  Miss  Cordelia  raised  her  eyes 
with  a  frightened  glance. 

"  Not  that  it  matters,"  added  Fanny,  looking 
away  across  the  moonlit  lawn  again.  "  Who 
cares  ?  Only,  it's  one  of  those  lies  that  go  against 
a  man,"  she  continued  after  a  short  pause.  "  A 
man  may  pretend  that  he  has  shot  ten  million 
grisly  bears  in  his  back  yard,  or  hooked  a  salmon 
that  weighed  a  hundred- weight  —  people  will 
laugh  and  say  that  he's  a  story-teller.  It's  all 
right,  you  know  —  and  nobody  minds.  But  when 
a  man  says  he's  been  in  the  army  or  in  the  navy, 
and  hasn't  —  people  call  him  a  liar  and  cut  him. 
I  don't  know  why  it's  so,  I'm  sure,  but  it  is  —  and 
we  all  know  it." 

"Yes,"  answered  Cordelia,  almost  tremulously; 
"  but  you  haven't  proved  that  Mr.  Brinsley  isn't 
telling  the  truth  —  " 

"  Oh  yes,  I  have !  There  never  was  a  deep- 
sea  sailor  yet  who  had  never  heard  of  club-haul- 
ing a  ship  to  save  her.  I  know  about  those 


94  LOVE  IN  IDLENESS. 

things.  I  always  make  navy  officers  talk  to  me 
about  those  things  whenever  I  get  a  chance. 
Besides,  I  can  prove  it  to  you.  Ask  the  first 
captain  of  a  fishing-schooner  you  meet  down  at 
the  landing  what  it  means.  But  don't  tell  me 
I  don't  know  —  it's  too  absurd." 

Miss  Cordelia  looked  down.  Her  hand  still 
rested  on  Fanny's  arm,  and  it  trembled  now  so 
that  the  young  girl  felt  it. 

"  What  does  it  mean,  then  ?  "  asked  Cordelia, 
faintly. 

"Oh,  it's  a  long  operation  to  tell  about.  It's 
when  you've  got  a  lee-shore  in  a  gale,  and  you 
want  to  go  about  and  can't,  because  you  miss 
stays  every  time,  and  you  let  go  an  anchor,  and 
the  ship  swings  to  it,  and  just  as  ^she  begins  to 
get  way  on,  you  slip  your  chain,  and  she  pays 
off  on  the  other  tack.  Of  course  you  lose  your 
anchor." 

"Oh  —  you  lose  the  anchor?  To  save  the 
ship?  I  see." 

"Exactly." 

"  You  lose  the  anchor  to  save  the  ship,"  re- 
peated Cordelia,  softly,  as  though  she  were  try- 


LOVE   IN   IDLENESS.  95 

ing  to  remember  the  words  for  future  use.  Shall 
we  go  back  ? "  she  suggested,  rather  abruptly. 

"  I  wish  you'd  answer  me  one  question  first," 
said  Fanny. 

"Yes.     What  is  it?" 

"  Why  are  you  so  awfully  anxious  to  stand  up 
for  Mr.  Brinsley  ?  You're  not  in  love  with  him, 
are  you  ? " 

Cordelia  started  very  perceptibly,  and  turned 
her  face  away.  Then,  all  at  once,  she  laughed 
a  little  hysterically. 

*  In  love  ?     At  my  age  ?  " 

And  she  laughed  again,  and  laughed,  strange 
to  say,  till  she  cried,  clinging  all  the  time  to  the 
young  girl's  strong  arm.  Fanny  did  not  ask 
any  more  questions  as  they  walked  slowly  back 
to  the  house. 


5— Vol.  9 


CHAPTER   VII. 

IOME  with  me  into  the  village,  and 
help  me  to  do  errands,"  said  Fanny 
on  the  following  morning,  just  as 
Lawrence  was  feeling  for  his  pipe  in 
his  pocket  after  breakfast.  "  You  can  smoke 
till  we  get  there.  It  wouldn't  hurt  you  to  smoke 
less,  anyway." 

They  went  down  through  the  garden,  fresh 
and  dewy  still  from  the  short,  cool  night,  towards 
the  sea.  The  path  to  the  village  lies  along  a 
low  sea-wall,  just  high  enough  and  strong  enough 
to  keep  the  tide  from  the  lawns.  But  the  tide 
was  beginning  to  run  out  at  that  hour,  and  was 
singing  and  rocking  itself  away  from  the  shore, 

96 


LOVE   IN   IDLENESS.  <)/ 

leaving  the  big  loose  stones  and  the  chocolate- 
coloured  rocks  all  wet  and  shining  in  the  morn- 
ing sun.  The  breeze  was  springing  up  in  the 
offing  and  would  reach  the  land  before  long,  kiss- 
ing each  island  as  it  passed  softly  by,  and  gently 


breaking  with  dark  blue  the  smoothly  undulating 
water. 

The  sun  was  almost  behind  the  pair  as  they 
walked  along  the  sands,  and  «hone  full  upon 
the  harbour  as  it  came  into  view,  lighting  up 
the  deep  green  of  the  islands  between  which 
passes  the  channel,  and  bringing  up  the  warm 
brown  of  the  soil  through  thick  weaving  spruces. 


98  LOVE   IN   IDLENESS. 

The  graceful  yachts  caught  the  sunshine,  too, 
their  hulls  gleaming  darkly,  or  dazzlingly  white, 
their  slender  masts  pencilled  in  light,  against 
the  trees,  and  standing  out  like  threaded  needles 
when  they  showed  against  the  pale,  clear  sky. 
In  the  bright  northern  air,  the  artist  would  have 
complained  that  there  was  no  atmosphere  —  no 
'  depth,'  nor  '  distance,'  but  only  the  distinct  far- 
ness  of  the  objects  a  long  way  off  —  nothing  at 
all  like  '  atmospheric  perspective.' 

"  Isn't  it  a  glorious  day !  "  exclaimed  Fanny, 
looking  seaward  at  a  white-sailed  fishing-schooner, 
which  scarcely  moved  in  the  morning  air. 

"  It's  a  little  bit  too  swept  and  garnished,"  an- 
swered Lawrence.  "That  is  —  for  a  picture, 
you  know.  It's  better  to  feel  than  to  look  at, 
if  you  understand  what  I  mean.  It  feels  so 
northern,  that  when  you  look  at  it,  it  seems  bare 
and  unfinished  without  a  little  snow." 

"  But  you  lil^e  it,  don't  you  ?  "  asked  the  young 
girl,  in  prompt  protest. 

"  Of  course  I  do.  What  a  question  !  I  thought 
I'd  been  showing  how  much  I  liked  it,  ever  since 
I  got  here." 


LOVE   IN    IDLENESS. 


"  I'm  not  sure  that  you  show  what  you  like 
and  don't  like,"  said  Fanny,  in  a  tone  of  reflexion. 
"  Perhaps  it's  better  not  to." 

"You  don't,  at  all  events.     At   least — aren't 


you  rather  an  inscrutable  person?  Of  course 
I  don't  know,"  he  added  rather  foolishly,  pulling 
his  woollen  cap  over  his  eyes  and  glancing  at 
her  sideways. 

"  Inscrutable !     What  a   big  word  !     '  The  in- 


100  LOVE   IN  IDLENESS. 

scrutable  ways  of  Providence  '  —  that's  what  they 
always  say,  don't  they?  Still  —  if  you  mean 
that  I  don't  '  tell,'  you're  quite  right.  I  don't  — 
when  I  can  keep  my  countenance.  Do  you  ?  It's 
always  far  better  not  to  tell.  Besides,  if  you 
commit  yourself  to  an  opinion,  you're  committing 
yourself  to  gaol." 

"  What  a  way  of  putting  it !  But  it's  really 
true.  I  should  so  much  like  to  ask  you  a  ques- 
tion about  one  of  your  opinions." 

"  Why  don't  you  ?  "  asked  Fanny,  turning  her 
eyes  to  his. 

"  Oh  —  lots  of  reasons :  I'm  afraid,  in  the  first 
place;  and  then,  I'm  not  sure  you  have  one, 
and  then  —  " 

"  Say  it  all  —  I  hate  people  who  hesitate !  " 

"  Well  —  no.  There's  a  great  deal  more  to 
say  than  I  want  to  say.  Let's  talk  about  the 
landscape." 

"  No.  I  want  to  know  what  the  question  is 
which  you  wished  you  might  ask,"  insisted 
Fanny. 

"  It's  about  Mr.  Brinsley,"  said  Lawrence, 
plunging. 


LOVE  IN  IDLENESS. 

"  Well,  what  about  him  ? "  Fanny's  tone 
changed  perceptibly,  and  her  expression  grew 
cold  and  forbidding. 

"Nothing  particular  —  unless  it's  impertinent 
—  so  I  won't  ask  it." 

"You  won't  ? "  asked  Fanny,  slackening  her  pace 
and  looking  hard  at  him.  "  Not  if  I  ask  you  to  ?" 

"  No,"  answered  Lawrence.  "  I'd  oblige  you 
by  asking  a  different  question,  but  not  that  one. 
You  wouldn't  know  the  difference." 

"  That's  ingenuous,  at  all  events."  She  looked 
away  again  and  laughed. 

"  I  never  fight  when  I  can  help  it,  and  you 
looked  dangerous  just  now.  You  always  are, 
in  one  way  or  another." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ? " 

"  Only  that  when  you  don't  happen  to  be 
frightening  me  out  of  my  wits,  you  are  charming 
me  into  a  perfect  idiot." 

"Something  between  an  express  train  and  the 
Lorelei,"  laughed  Fanny. 

But  the  quick,  girlish  blood  had  sprung  to  her 
sunny  cheeks  and  lingered  a  moment,  as  though 
it  loved  the  light.  They  were  now  in  the  village 


102  LOVE  IN   IDLENESS. 

—  in  the  broad  street  where  the  shops  are.  At 
that  hour  there  were  many  people  moving  about 
on  foot  and  in  every  sort  of  vehicle,  short  of 
brougham  and  landaus.  There  was  the  smart 
couple  in  a  high  buckboard,  just  out  for  a  morn- 
ing drive ;  there  was  the  elderly  farmer  with  his 
buggy  or  his  hooded  cart  —  his  wife  seated  be- 
side him,  with  her  queer,  sad,  winter-blighted 
face,  and  her  decent,  but  dusty  black  frock ;  — 
there  was  the  young  farmer  'sport'  driving  his 
favourite  trotting  horse  in  a  sulky.  And  of 
pedestrians  there  was  no  end.  A  smart  party 
bent  on  a  day's  excursion  by  sea  came  down  the 
board  walk,  brilliant  in  perfectly  new  blue  and 
white  serge,  with  bits  of  splendid  orange  and 
red  here  and  there,  fresh  faces,  light  hearts,  great 
appetites,  and  the  most  trifling  of  cares  —  the 
care  for  trifles  themselves.  Fanny  nodded  and 
smiled,  and  was  smiled  at,  while  Lawrence  at- 
tempted to  lift  his  soft  woollen  cap  from  his 
head  with  some  sort  of  grace  —  a  thing  impossi- 
ble, as  men  who  wear  soft  woollen  caps  well 
know.  But  the  air  seemed  lighter  and  brighter 
for  so  much  youth  laughing  in  it. 


LOVE   IN   IDLENESS.  103 

Fanny  dived  into  one  shop  after  another, 
Lawrence  following  her,  rather  awkwardly,  as 
a  man  always  does  under  the  circumstances, 
until  he  is  old  enough  to  find  out  that  there  is 
a  time  for  watching  as  well  as  a  time  for  talk- 
ing, and  that  more  may  be  learned  of  a  woman's 
character  from  the  way  she  treats  shopkeepers 
than  is  generally  supposed.  Fanny  showed  sur- 
prising alternations  of  firmness  and  condescen- 
sion, for  she  had  the  gift  of  managing  people 
and  of  getting  what  she  wanted,  which  is  a 
rare  gift  and  one  not  to  be  despised.  She 
asked  very  kindly  after  the  fishmonger's  baby, 
but  she  did  not  hesitate  to  tell  the  grocer  the 
hardest  of  truths  about  the  butter. 

"  I  always  do  my  own  marketing,"  she  said 
to  Lawrence,  in  answer  to  his  look  of  surprise. 
"  It  amuses  me,  and  I  get  much  better  things. 
My  poor  dear  cousins  don't  understand  market- 
ing a  bit  —  though  they  ought  to.  That's  the 
reason  why  they  never  get  on,  somehow.  I 
believe  marketing  is  the  best  school  in  the  world 
for  learning  what's  worth  having  and  what  isn't. 
Don't  you?" 


104  LOVE  IN  IDLENESS. 

"  I  never  had  a  chance  to  learn,"  laughed 
Lawrence.  "  I  wish  you'd  teach  me  how  to  get 
on,  as  you  call  it." 

"Oh  —  it's  very  easy!  You  only  need  know 
exactly  what  you  want,  and  then  try  to  get  it 
as  hard  as  you  can.  Most  people  don't  know, 
and  don't  try." 

"  For  that  matter  I  know  perfectly  well  what 
I  want." 

"  Then  why  don't  you  try  and  get  it  ? "  asked 
Fanny,  pausing  at  the  door  of  another  shop  as 
though  interested  in  his  answer. 

"  I'm  not  sure  that  it's  in  the  market," 
answered  the  young  man,  his  eyes  in  hers. 

"  Have  you  enquired  ? "  Fanny's  mouth 
twitched  with  the  coming  smile. 

"  No  —  not  exactly.  I'm  trying  to  find  out  by 
inspection." 

"  If  you  don't  think  it's  likely  to  be  too  dear, 
you'd  better  ask  —  whatever  it  is." 

"  Money  couldn't  buy  it.  Besides,  I've  got 
none,"  added  Lawrence. 

"  You  might  get  it  on  credit,"  said  Fanny. 
"  But  I  think  it's  very  doubtful." 


LOVE  IN  IDLENESS.  105 

Thereupon  she  entered  the  shop,  and  Law- 
rence followed  her,  meditating  deeply  upon  his 
chances,  and  asking  himself  whether  he  should 
run  the  great  risk  at  once,  or  wait  and  watch 
Brinsley.  To  tell  the  truth,  he  thought  his  own 
chances  very  small ;  for  he  underestimated  all 
his  advantages  by  looking  at  them  in  the  light  of 
his  present  poverty,  not  seeing  that  in  so  doing 
he  might  be  underestimating  Fanny  Trehearne 
as  well.  A  somewhat  excessive  caution,  which 
sometimes  goes  with  timidity,  though  not  at  all 
of  the  sort  which  produces  cowardice,  is  often 
the  result  of  an  education  which  has  not  brought 
a  man  closely  into  competition  with  other  men. 
No  one  in  common  sense,  save  the  Miss  Miners 
and  Lawrence  himself,  could  have  imagined  that 
Brinsley  had  a  chance  against  him.  For  any- 
thing that  people  knew,  Brinsley  might  turn  out 
to  be  an  adventurer  of  the  worst  kind,  whereas 
Lawrence  was  of  good  birth,  a  man  of  whom 
many  knew  who  he  was,  and  whence  he  came, 
and  that  he  had  as  good  a  right  to  ask  for 
Fanny's  hand  as  any  man.  He  was  poor  just 
now,  but  no  one  believed  that  his  rich  uncle, 


106  LOVE  IN  IDLENESS. 

a  childless  widower  of  fifty-five,  would  marry 
again,  and  Lawrence  was  sure  to  have  money 
in  the  end,  though  he  might  wait  thirty  years 
for  it. 

As  for  Brinsley,  Fanny  Trehearne  either  could 
not  or  would  not  pretend  that  she  liked  him, 
even  in  the  most  moderate  degree  of  distant 
liking,  after  she  had  satisfied  herself  that  he  was 
not  a  truthful  person  in  those  matters  in  which 
truth  decides  the  right  of  a  man  to  be  considered 
honourable.  Being,  on  the  whole,  more  careful 
than  most  people  about  the  accuracy  of  what  she 
said,  she  was  less  inclined  to  make  allowances  for 
others  than  a  great  many  of  her  contemporaries. 
Besides,  Brinsley  had  not  only  told  a  lie,  which 
was  mean  in  itself,  but  he  had  allowed  himself 
to  be  found  out,  which  Fanny  considered  con- 
temptible. 

Up  to  this  time  she  had  seemed  to  think  him 
very  pleasant  company  and  not  a  bad  addition  to 
the  society  of  the  place. 

"  He's  so  good-looking ! "  she  had  often  said  to 
the  approving  Miss  Miners.  "  And  he  has  good 
manners,  and  knows  how  to  come  into  a  room, 


LOVE   IN   IDLENESS.  107 

and  how  to  sit-  down  and  get  up  —  and  do  lots  of 
things,"  she  added  vaguely. 

In  this  opinion  her  three  old-maid  cousins 
fully  concurred,  and  they  were  quite  ready  to 
say  as  much  in  his  favour  as  Fanny  could 
have  heard  without  laughing.  They  were  there- 
fore greatly  distressed  when  she  changed  her 
mind. 

"  He's  handsome,"  Fanny  now  admitted.  "  But 
he's  a  little  too  showy.  I've  seen  men  like  him 
at  races,  but  they  were  not  the  men  who  were 
introduced  to  me.  I  don't  think  they  knew  any- 
body I  knew  —  that  sort  of  man,  don't  you 
know?  And  his  English  accent  isn't  quite 
English,  and  I  don't  like  his  little  flat  whiskers, 
and  his  hands  irritate  me.  Besides,  he  said  he 
had  been  in  the  navy,  and  now  he  admits  that 
he  never  was.  That's  enough." 

"  My  dear  Fanny,"  Cordelia  answered,  on  such 
occasions,  "  there  was  a  misunderstanding  about 
that,  you  know.  He  was  in  the  navy,  since  he 
was  an  officer  of  Marines,  but  of  course  he  wasn't 
expected  to  know  —  "  - 

"  The  Marines ! "  exclaimed  Fanny,  contempt- 


108  LOVE  IN  IDLENESS. 

uously.  "  It's  only  a  way  of  getting  out  of  it, 
I'm  sure!" 

Thereupon  the  three  Miss  Miners  told  her 
that  she  was  very  unjust  and  prejudiced,  as  they 
retired  together  to  praise  Mr.  Brinsley,  out  of 
hearing  of  their  young  cousin's  tart  comment. 
Miss  Cordelia  had  made  it  all  right  by  giving  the 
man  an  opportunity  of  justifying  himself  after  he 
had  privately  explained  to  her  that  the  Marines 
were  an  integral  part  of  the  navy,  but  that  they 
were  not  called  upon  to  know  anything  about 
navigation,  —  a  fact  which  must  account  for  his 
ignorance. 

He  had  very  firm  friends,  to  say  the  least  of  it, 
in  the  three  spinsters,  who  might  have  been  said 
to  worship  the  ground  on  which  he  walked,  and 
who  thought  it  a  sin  and  a  shame  that  Fanny 
should  treat  him  as  she  did.  As  for  young  Law- 
rence, he  looked  on,  with  his  observant  artist's 
eyes,  and  never  mentioned  Brinsley,  except  to 
Fanny  herself.  For  he  was  not  at  all  lacking  in 
tact,  however-  deficient  he  might  be  in  the  manly 
accomplishments. 

"  Do  you  know,"  Fanny  began,  one  day  when 


LOVE  IN   IDLENESS.  109 

they  were  walking  in  the  woods,  "  I  don't  half 
mind  your  being  such  a  bad  hand  at  things. 
It's  funny.  I  thought  I  should,  at  first  —  but  I 
don't." 

"  I'm  awfully  glad,"  answered  Lawrence,  not 
finding  anything  else  to  say  to  express  his 
gratitude. 

"  Oh,  you  may  well  be !  "  laughed  Fanny.  "  I 
don't  forgive  everybody  for  being  a  duffer.  And 
that's  what  you  are,  you  know.  You  don't  mind 
my  saying  so  ?  " 

"  Oh  no,  not  at  all."  The  tone  in  which  he 
spoke  did  not  express  much  conviction,  how- 
ever. 

"  I  believe  you  do,"  said  Fanny,  thoughtfully. 

They  were  following  a  narrow  path  which  led 
upwards  along  the  bank  of  a  brook  under  over- 
arching trees.  Here  and  there  the  bank  had 
fallen  away,  and  the  woodmen  had  laid  down 
*  slabs '  of  the  rippings  first  taken  off  by  the  saw- 
mill in  squaring  timber.  It  was  damp  under 
foot,  for  it  had  lately  rained,  and  the  wet,  choco- 
late-coloured dead  leaves  of  the  previous  year 
filled  the  chinks  between  the  bits  of  wood,  and 


HO  LOVE   IN   IDLENESS. 

sometimes  lay  all  over  them,  a  slippery  mass.  It 
was  still  and  hot  and  damp  all  through  the  thick 
growth  on  the  midsummer's  afternoon.  The 
whispered  mystery  of  countless  living  things 
filled  the  quiet  air  with  a  vibration  more  felt 
than  heard,  which  overcame  the  silence,  but  did 
not  break  the  stillness. 

The  path  was  very  narrow,  and  Fanny  had 
to  walk  before  her  companion.  Their  voices 
seemed  to  echo  back  to  them  from  very  near,  as 
they  talked,  for  amongst  the  trees  the  rich  under- 
growth grew  man-high.  On  their  right,  below 
them,  the  brook  laughed  softly  to  itself  as  a  faun 
might  laugh,  drowsily,  half  asleep  in  a  hollow  of 
the  deep  woods. 

And  then,  through  the  warm-breathing  secret 
places,  where  all  that  was  living  was  growing 
fiercely  in  the  sudden  summer,  stole  the  heart- 
thrilling  fragrance  of  all  that  lived,  than  which 
nothing  more  surely  stirs  young  blood  in  the 
glory  of  the  year. 

For  some  minutes  the  pair  walked  on  in  silence, 
Fanny  leading.  The  young  man  watched  the 
strong,  lithe  figure  of  the  girl  as  she  moved 


LOVE  IN   IDLENESS.  HI 

swiftly  and  sure-footed  before  him.  Suddenly  she 
stopped,  without  turning  round,  and  she  seemed 
to  be  listening.  A  low  ray  of  sunlight  ran  quiv- 
ering through  the  trees  and  played  with  a  crisp 
ringlet  of  her  hair,  too  full  of  life  and  strength 
to  be  smoothed  to  dull  order  with  the  rest. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  asked  Lawrence,  in  a  low  voice, 
watching  her. 

"  I  thought  I  heard  some  one  in  the  woods," 
she  answered  quickly,  and  then  listened  again. 

Not  a  sound  broke  the  dream-like  stillness. 

"  I'm  sure  I  heard  something,"  said  Fanny. 
Then  she  laughed  a  little.  "  Besides,"  she  added, 
"it's  very  likely.  It's  awfully  hot.  "  Here's  a 
good  place  to  sit  down." 

It  was  not  a  particularly  good  place,  being  damp 
and  sloping,  and  Lawrence  planted  his  heels  firmly 
amongst  the  wet,  dead  leaves  to  keep  himself  from 
slipping  down  into  the  path  as  he  sat  beside  her. 

"  There's  always  something  going  on  in  the 
woods,"  she  said  softly  and  dreamily.  "  The 
trees  talk  to  each  other  all  day  long,  and  the 
squirrels  sit  and  crack  nuts  while  they  listen  to 
the  conversation.  I  like  the  woods.  Somehow 


H2  LOVE   IN  IDLENESS. 

one  never  feels  alone  when  one  gets  where  things 
grow  —  does  one  ?  " 

"  I  don't  mind  being  alone  when  I  can't  be  —  I 
mean  —  "  Lawrence  did  not  finish  his  sentence, 
but  bent  down  and  picked  up  a  twig  from  the 
ground.  "  Isn't  it  funny  !  "  he  exclaimed,  twist- 
ing it  in  his  hands.  "  All  the  bark's  loose,  and 
turns  round." 

"  Of  course  —  it's  an  old  twig,  and  it's  wet. 
When  don't  you  mind  being  alone  ?  You  were 
saying  something  —  '  when  you  couldn't  be  with ' 
-something,  or  somebody." 

"  Oh  —  you  know !  What's  the  use  of  my 
saying  it  ? "  Lawrence  kept  his  eye  on  the 
twig. 

"  I  don't  know,  and  if  I  want  you  to  say  any- 
thing, that's  the  use,"  answered  Fanny,  whose 
prose  style,  so  to  say,  was  direct  if  it  was  anything. 

"  Yes  —  but  you  see —  I  didn't  mean  anything 
in  particular."  He  broke  the  twig  in  two  and 
tossed  it  over  the  path  into  the  brook  below. 

Fanny  changed  her  position  a  little,  leaning 
forward  and  clasping  her  gloved  hands  round 
her  knees. 


LOVE  IN   IDLENESS.  H3 

"  You're  very  nice,  you  know,"  she  said  medita- 
tively. "  I  like  you." 

"  Because  I  don't  answer  your  questions  ?  " 
asked  Lawrence,  looking  at  her  face,  which  was 
half  turned  from  him. 

"  Yes.     That's  one  of  the  reasons." 

"  It's  a  very  funny  one.  I  don't  see  much  reason 
in  it,  I  confess." 

"Don't  you?  Don't  you  know  that  a  woman 
sometimes  likes  a  man  for  what  he  doesn't 
say  ?  " 

"  I  never  thought  of  it  in  that  way.  I  daresay 
you're  right.  You  ought  to  know  much  better 
than  I  do.  Especially  if  you  really  like  me,  as 
you  say  you  do." 

"Oh — I'm  honest.  I  never  said  I'd  been  in 
the  navy ! "  Fanny  laughed.  "  Besides,  if  I 
didn't  like  you,  why  should  I  say  so  ?  Just  to 
say  something  civil?  The  way  Mr.  Brinsley 
does  ? " 

"  Brinsley's  a  horror !  Don't  talk  about  him 
—  especially  here." 

"  I  don't  mean  to.  I  hate  him.  But  if  we 
were  going  to  talk  about  him,  this  would  be  a 


114  LOVE  IN  IDLENESS. 

good  place  —  one's  sure  that  he's  not  just  round 
the  corner  of  the  verandah  making  one  of  my 
three  cousins  miserable." 

"  How  do  you  mean  ? " 

"Why  —  they  all  love  him.  Can't  you  see 
it  ?  I  don't  mean  figuratively.  Not  a  bit. 
They're  in  love  with  him,  poor  dears ! " 

"  Nonsense  !  not  really  ?  "  Lawrence  laughed 
incredulously. 

"Yes  —  really.  It's  a  rather  dismal  sort  of 
love  —  they've  kept  their  hearts  in  pickle  for 
such  an  age,  you  know  —  old  pickles  aren't  good, 
either.  I've  no  patience  with  old  maids  who 
fall  in  love  and  make  fools  of  themselves  ! " 

"  Perhaps  they  can't  help  it,"  suggested  the 
young  man.  "  Nobody  can  help  falling  in  love, 
you  know." 

"No,"  answered  Fanny,  rather  doubtfully. 
"  Perhaps  not.  I  don't  know.  It  depends." 

"  People  don't  generally  try  to  keep  them- 
selves from  falling  in  love,"  remarked  Lawrence, 
with  the  air  of  a  philosopher.  "  It's  more  apt 
to  be  the  other  way.  They  are  generally  trying 
to  make  some  one  else  fall  in  love  with  them. 
That's  the  hard  thing." 


LOVE   IN   IDLENESS. 

"  Is  it?*  Fanny  smiled.  "  Perhaps  it  is,"  she 
added,  after  a  pause.  "  I'd  like  to  tell  you  some- 
thing—" 

She  hesitated  and  stopped.  Lawrence  looked 
at  her,  but  did  not  speak,  expecting  her  to  go  on. 
The  silence  continued  for  some  time.  Once  or 
twice  Fanny  turned  and  met  his  eyes,  and  her 
lips  moved  as  though  she  were  just  going  to  say 
something.  She  seemed  to  be  in  doubt. 

"  I  don't  believe  in  friendship,  and  I  don't 
believe  in  promises,  —  and  I  don't  believe  much 
in  anything,"  she  said,  at  last,  in  magnificent 
generalization.  "  But  I'd  like  to  tell  you,  all  the 
same.  Do  you  mind  ?  " 

"  I  won't  repeat  it  if  you  do,"  said  Lawrence, 
simply. 

"  No  —  I  don't  believe  you  will.  You  see  I 
haven't  any  friends,  so  I  never  tell  things,  —  at 
least,  not  much.  I  don't  believe  much  in  telling, 
anyway.  Do  you  ?  " 

"  Not  if  you  mean  to  keep  a  secret." 

"  Oh  —  well  —  this  isn't  exactly  a  secret  —  only 
I  don't  want  any  one  to  know  it.  Yes,  I  know ! 
You  laugh  because  I'm  going  to  tell  you.  But 
you're  different,  somehow  —  " 


LOVE  IN  IDLENESS. 

"Am  I?" 

"  Oh  yes,  —  you  don't  count !  " 

Lawrence's  face  fell  a  little  at  this  last  remark, 
and  there  was  silence  again  for  a  few  moments. 

"  I'm  not  sure  that  I'll  tell  you,  after  all,"  said 
Fanny,  at  last. 

The  quiet  lids  were  half  closed  over  the  grey 
eyes,  and  she  seemed  to  be  thinking  out  some- 
thing. Lawrence  was  unconsciously  wondering 
why  he  did  not  think  the  white  lashes  ugly, 
especially  when  she  had  just  told  him  that  he 
did  not  'count.' 

"  Are  you  sure  you  won't  tell  ?  "  asked  the 
young  girl,  after  another  long  pause. 

"  If  you  don't  want  me  to,  of  course  I  won't," 
answered  Lawrence,  mechanically. 

"  It's  a  sort  of  confession,"  said  Fanny.  "  That's 
the  reason  why  I  don't  like  to  tell  you.  It's 
cowardly  to  be  afraid  of  confessing  that  one's 
been  an  idiot,  so  I  am  going  to  do  it  at  once  and 
get  it  over." 

"  It's  a  startling  confession ! "  laughed  Law- 
rence, softly.  "  I  don't  believe  it.  Is  that 
all  ?  " 


LOVE  IN  IDLENESS.  117 

"  If  you  laugh  at  me,  I  won't  tell  you  anything 
more.  Then  you'll  be  sorry." 

"  Shall  I  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  All  right !     I'm  serious  now,"  said  Lawrence. 

"  Don't  you  want  to  smoke  ? "  asked  Fanny, 
suddenly.  "  I  wish  you  would.  I  should  be 
less  —  less  nervous,  you  know." 

"  What  a  curious  idea !  But  I'll  smoke  if 
you  like." 

He  proceeded  to  fill  and  light  a  big  brier-root 
pipe. 

"  I  like  the  smell  of  a  pipe,"  said  Fanny,  watch- 
ing the  operation.  "  I'm  so  tired  of  the  ever- 
lasting cigarette." 

"  I'm  ready,"  Lawrence  said,  puffing  slowly 
into  the  still,  hot  air. 

"  Are  you  sure  you  won't  laugh  at  me  ?  Well, 
I'll  tell  you.  I  liked  Mr.  Brinsley  awfully  —  at 
first." 

Lawrence  looked  at  her  quickly  and  took  his 
pipe  from  his  mouth. 

"  Not  really  ?  "  he  exclaimed,  only  half-inter- 
rogatively,  but  with  a  change  of  colour.  "  But 


LOVE   IN   IDLENESS. 

then  —  well  —  I  don't  suppose  you  mean  any- 
thing particular  by  that,"  he  added,  to  comfort 
himself.  "  You  don't  mean  that  you  — "  He 
stopped. 

Fanny  nodded  slowly,  and  the  blush  that  rose 
in  her  face  reddened  her  sunny  complexion. 

"  Yes.  That's  what  I  mean.  I  cared  for  him, 
you  know,  —  that  sort  of  thing." 

"  It  hasn't  taken  you  long  to  get  over  it,  at 
all  events,"  answered  Lawrence,  gravely,  and 
wondering  inwardly  why  she  made  the  extraordi- 
nary confession,  seeing  that  it  hurt  him  and 
could  do  her  no  good. 

"No  —  it  hasn't  taken  long,  has  it?  That's 
what  frightens  me.  If  I  weren't  frightened,  I 
shouldn't  talk  to  you  about  it." 

"  I  don't  understand  —  why  are  you  frightened  ? 
Especially  since  you've  got  over  it.  I  don't 
see  —  " 

"  I  thought  you  might,"  said  Fanny,  enigmati- 
cally. 

A  long  silence  followed,  this  time.  Lawrence 
crossed  his  hands  on  his  knees  as  Fanny  was 
doing,  holding  his  pipe,  which  was  going  out. 


LOVE   IN   IDLENESS.  H9 

They  both  sat  staring  at  the  opposite  bank  of 
the  brook. 

The  vital  loveliness  of  the  still  woods  was  all 
around  them,  whispering  in  their  young  ears, 
breathing  into  their  young  nostrils  the  breath 
of  nature's  life,  caressing  them  with  bountiful 
warmth.  They  sat  side  by  side,  very  near, 
staring  at  the  opposite  bank,  and  for  a  long 
time  no  words  passed  their  lips.  At  last  the 
young  girl  spoke  in  a  low  and  almost  monoto- 
nous tone. 

"  He  has  an  influence  over  people  who  come 
near  him,"  she  said.  "  Besides,  that  kind  of  man 
appeals  to  me.  It's  natural,  isn't  it  ?  I'm  so 
fond  of  all  sorts  of  things  out-of-doors,  that  I 
can't  help  admiring  a  man  who  can  do  everything 
so  well.  And  he's  a  splendid  creature.  You've 
never  seen  him  ride.  You  don't  know  —  it's 
wonderful !  I  wish  you  could  see  him  on  that 
thoroughbred  Teddy  Van  De  Water  has  brought 
up  this  summer  —  Teddy's  a  good  rider,  but  he 
can't  do  anything  with  the  mare.  You  ought  to 
see  Brinsley — Mr.  Brinsley  —  you'd  understand 
better." 

6— Vol.  9 


120  LOVE  IN  IDLENESS. 

"  But  I  understand  perfectly,  as  it  is,"  said 
Lawrence,  rather  gloomily. 

"  Do  you  ?  I  wonder  whether  you  really  do. 
Do  you  think  there's  any  —  any  excuse  for 
me  ?  " 

The  words  were  spoken  in  a  faltering  shame- 
faced way  very  unlike  Fanny's  usual  manner. 

"  As  though  you  needed  any  excuse  for  taking 
a  fancy  to  any  one  who  pleases  you  !  "  answered 
Lawrence,  rather  coldly.  "  Aren't  you  perfectly 
free  to  like  anybody  who  turns  up  ?  " 

During  the  pause  which  followed,  he  slowly 
relighted  his  pipe,  which  had  quite  gone  out  by 
this  time. 

"  I  was  afraid  you  wouldn't  understand,"  said 
Fanny,  in  a  disappointed  tone. 

"  But  I  do  - 

"  No  —  not  what  I  mean.  I  hate  explaining 
things,  but  I  shall  have  to." 

Louis  Lawrence  wondered  vaguely  what  there 
could  be  to  explain,  and,  if  there  were  anything, 
why  she  should  be  so  anxious  to  explain  to  him 
in  particular. 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

T  was  in  this  way,"  said  Fanny.     "  Mr. 
Brinsley  brought  a  letter  of  introduc- 
tion from  Cousin  Frank.     You  know 
who  Frank  is,  don't  you  ?     He's  the 
brother  of  the  three  Miss  Miners." 

"  Of  course,"  nodded  Lawrence.  "  Everybody 
knows  Frank  Miner." 

"  And  he  knows  everybody.  But  he  didn't  say 
much  in  his  note,  and  Cordelia  has  written  to 
him  since,  because  she  wants  to  know  all  about 
Mr.  Brinsley,  and  it  appears  that  Frank  has  only 
met  him  once  or  twice  at  a  club,  and  doesn't 
know  anything  about  him.  However,  it  doesn't 
matter!  The  main  point  is  that  he  called  the 


121 


122  LOVE   IN   IDLENESS. 

day  after  we  got  here,  and  in  twenty-four  hours 
we  were  all  in  love  with  him." 

"  Please  don't  include  yourself,"  said  Lawrence, 
his  delicate  face  betraying  that  he  winced. 

"  I  will  include  myself,  because  it's  true," 
answered  Fanny,  very  much  in  earnest.  "  I 
shouldn't  put  it  just  in  that  way  about  myself, 
perhaps,  —  but  I  took  a  fancy  to  him,  and  I  took 
him  to  drive,  and  I  found  that  he  could  drive 
quite  as  well  as  I,  and  we  went  out  riding 
with  a  party,  and  he  rides  like  an  angel  —  he 
really  does  —  it's  divine.  And  then  I  tried  him 
in  the  boat,  and  he  was  good  at  that.  So  I  be- 
gan to  like  him  very  much." 

"  They're  all  excellent  reasons  for  liking  a 
man,"  observed  Lawrence,  with  a  little  contempt. 

"  Don't  scoff  at  things  you  can't  do  yourself," 
said  Fanny,  severely.  "  It's  not  in  good  taste. 
Besides,  I  don't  care.  All  women  admire  men 
who  are  stronger,  and  quicker,  and  better  with 
their  hands  than  other  men.  One  always  thinks 
they  must  be  braver,  too." 

"  Yes,  that's  true,"  assented  Lawrence,  seeking 
to  retrieve  himself  by  meekness. 


LOVE  IN   IDLENESS.  123 

"  And  they  generally  are.  It  takes  courage  to 
ride  well,  and  it  needs  nerve  to  handle  a  boat  in 
a  squall.  I  don't  mean  to  say  that  you  can't  be 
brave  if  you  don't  know  how  to  do  those  things. 
That  would  be  nonsense.  You — for  instance  — 
you  could  learn.  Only  nobody  has  ever  taught 
you  anything,  and  you're  getting  old." 

Lawrence  laughed  outright,  and  forgot  his  ill- 
humour  in  a  moment. 

"  Oh  —  I  don't  mean  really  old,"  said  Fanny, 
immediately.  "  I  only  mean  that  one  ought  to 
learn  when  one  is  a  child,  as  I  did.  Then  it's  no 
trouble,  you  see  —  and  one  never  forgets.  Now, 
Mr.  Brinsley  began  young  —  " 

"  Yes,"  interrupted  'the  young  man,  "  I  should 
say  so.  I'm  sorry  I  didn't." 

"  So  am  I.  It  would  have  been  so  nice  to  do 
things  —  " 

She  stopped  abruptly,  and  pulled  up  a  blade  of 
rank  grass,  which  she  proceeded  to  twist  thought- 
fully round  her  finger. 

"  I  shouldn't  like  you  to  think  I  was  a  flirt," 
she  said,  suddenly  turning  her  grey  eyes  upon 
him. 


124  LOVE   IN   IDLENESS. 

He  met  her  glance  curiously,  being  consider- 
ably surprised  by  her  remark. 

"  Because  I  sometimes  think  I  am,  myself,"  she 
added,  still  looking  at  him.  "  Do  you  think  so  ?  " 
she  asked  earnestly.  "  What  is  a  flirt,  anyway  ?  " 

"  A  woman  who  draws  a  man  on  for  the  pleas- 
ure of  breaking  his  heart,  I  suppose,"  answered 
Lawrence,  keeping  his  eyes  fixed  intently  on 
hers. 

"  Then  I'm  only  half  a  flirt,"  said  Fanny, 
"  because  I  only  draw  a  man  on,  without  mean- 
ing to  break  anybody's  heart." 

"  Don't,"  said  Lawrence.  "  It  hurts,  you 
know." 

"  I  wonder  — "  The  young  girl  laughed  a 
little,  and  turned  away  from  his  eyes. 

"  What  ?  " 

"  Whether  it  really  hurts."  She  bit  the  end  of 
the  grass  blade,  and  slowly  tore  it  with  her  teeth, 
looking  dreamily  across  the  brook. 

"  Don't  try  it,  at  all  events." 

"  Mr.  Brinsley  doesn't  seem  to  mind." 

"  Brinsley  isn't  a  human  being,"  said  Law- 
rence, savagely. 


LOVE   IN   IDLENESS.  125 

"  What  is  he,  then  ?  " 

"  A  fraud  —  of  some  sort.  I  don't  care.  I 
hate  him !  " 

"  You're  hard  on  Mr.  Brinsley,"  observed 
Fanny,  slowly,  and  watching  her  companion 
sideways. 

"  Considering  what  you've  been  saying  about 
him- 

"  I  said  nothing  about  him  except  that  I  began 
by  liking  him  awfully." 

"  Well  —  you  left  the  rest  to  my  imagination. 
I  did  as  well  as  I  could.  If  you  didn't  hate  him 
yourself,  you'd  hardly  have  been  telling  me  all 
this,  would  you  ?  " 

"  Oh  —  I  don't  know.  I  might  be  going  to 
ask  your  advice  about  —  about  him." 

"  Take  him  out  in  your  boat  and  drown  him," 
suggested  Lawrence.  "  That's  my  advice  about 
him." 

"  What  has  he  done  to  you,  Mr.  Lawrence  ?  " 
enquired  Fanny,  gravely.  "  Why  do  you  hate 
him  so?" 

"  Why  ?  It's  plain  enough,  it  seems  to  me  — 
plain  as  a  —  what  do  you  call  the  thing  ?  " 


"  Plain  as  a  marlinespike,  you  mean.  Only  it 
isn't.  I  want  to  know  two  things.  Do  you 
think  I'm  a  flirt  ?  And  why  do  you  want  me  to 
murder  poor,  innocent  Mr.  Brinsley  ?  Do  you 
mind  answering?" 

Lawrence's  dark  eyes  began  to  gleam  angrily. 
He  bit  his  pipe  and  pulled  at  it,  though  it  had 
gone  out;  then  he  took  it  from  his  lips  and 
answered  deliberately. 

"  If  you  are  a  flirt,  Miss  Trehearne,  I  don't 
wish  Brinsley  any  further  damage.  He'll  do 
very  well  in  your  hands,  I'm  sure.  I  have  no 
anxiety." 

"  I  wouldn't  hurt  a  fly,"  said  Fanny.  "  If  I 
liked  the  fly,"  she  added. 

"  I  believe  the  spider  said  something  to  the 
same  effect,  when  he  invited  the  fly  into  his 
parlour." 

At  this  a  dark  flush  rose  in  the  girl's  cheeks. 

"  You're  rude,  Mr.  Lawrence,"  she  said. 

"  I'm  sorry,  Miss  Trehearne  —  but  you're  un- 
kind, so  you'll  please  to  excuse  me." 

Instead  of  flushing,  as  she  did,  Lawrence 
turned  slowly  pale,  as  was  his  nature. 


LOVE   IN  IDLENESS.  127 

"  Even  if  I  were,  —  but  I'm  not,  —  that's  no 
reason  why  you  should  be  rude." 

"  I  didn't  mean  to  be  rude,"  answered  Law- 
rence. "  I  don't  see  what  I  said  that  was  so 
very  dreadful." 

"  It  was  much  worse  than  anything  I  said," 
retorted  Fanny,  biting  her  blade  of  grass  again. 
"  Because  I  didn't  say  anything  at  all,  you  know. 
Oh,  well  —  if  you'll  say  you're  sorry,  we'll  bury 
it." 

"  I'm  sorry,"  said  Lawrence,  without  the  least 
show  of  contrition. 

"  I  was  going  to  tell  you  such  lots  of  things 
about  myself,"  said  the  young  girl.  "  You've 
made  me  forget  them  all.  What  was  I  talking 
about  when  we  began  to  fight?  I  began  by 
saying  that  I  liked  you,  and  you've  been  hor- 
rid ever  since.  I  won't  say  that  again,  at  all 
events." 

"  Excuse  me  —  you  began  by  saying  that  you'd 
liked  Brinsley  —  liked  him  awfully,  you  said.  It 
must  have  been,  awful  —  anything  connected 
with  Brinsley  is  necessarily  awful." 

"  There   you   go    again.      Don't    bolt   so  —  it 


128  LOVE  IN   IDLENESS. 

makes  bad  running.  I  told  you  why  I  liked 
him  so  much  at  first,  and  you  admitted  that  it 
was  natural.  Do  you  remember  that  ?  Well  — 
that  isn't  all.  After  I  liked  him,  I  began  to  care 
for  him.  I  told  you  that,  too.  Horrid  of  me, 
wasn't  it?" 

"  Horrid ! " 

"  I  wish  you  wouldn't  agree  with  me  all  the 
time !  "  exclaimed  Fanny,  impatiently.  "  You 
know  I  really  did  care  —  a  little.  And  then  one 
day  in  the  catboat,  he  asked  me  — "  She 
stopped  and  looked  at  Lawrence. 

"  To  marry  you  ?  Why  don't  you  say  it  ?  It 
wouldn't  surprise  me  a  bit." 

"No,"  said  Fanny,  slowly,  "he  didn't  ask  me 
to  marry  him." 

"  In  Heaven's  name,  what  did  he  ask  you  ?  " 
enquired  Lawrence,  exasperated  to  impatience. 

"  Oh  —  I  don't  know.  It  was  something 
about  the  channel  between  Bar  and  Sheep,  I 
believe.  Nothing  very  important,  anyway.  I'm 
not  sure  that  I  could  remember,  if  I  tried." 

"  Then, —  excuse  me,  but  what's  the  point  ?  " 

"  Oh  —  I  know !  "  exclaimed  Fanny,  as  though 


LOVE  IN  IDLENESS.  129 

suddenly  recollecting  something.  "  Not  that  it 
matters  much,  but  I  like  to  be  accurate.  It  was 
about  the  bell  buoy  off  Sheep  Porcupine.  You 
know,  I  showed  it  to  you  the  other  day.  Well 
—  I  told  him  how  it  had  been  carried  away  in  a 
storm  some  time  ago,  and  that  this  was  a  new 
one.  And  the  next  day  I  heard  him  telling 
Augusta  all  about  it,  as  though  he  had  known 
before,  you  see." 

"Well  —  that  wasn't  exactly  a  crime,"  ob- 
served Lawrence,  who  could  not  understand  at 
all.  "You'd  told  him  —  " 

"  Yes,  but  he  said  he  remembered  the  old  one. 
That  was  impossible,  as  he  hadn't  known  any- 
thing about  it.  It  was  a  little  slip,  but  it  made 
me  open  my  eyes  and  watch  him.  I  used  to 
think  he  was  perfection  until  then." 

"  Oh,  I  see !  That  was  when  you  first  began 
to  find  out  that  he  wasn't  quite  straight." 

"  Exactly.  It  made  all  the  difference.  I've 
caught  him  out  more  than  once  since  then. 
The  other  night,  it  was  too  much  for  me 
when  he  talked  about  the  navy  —  so  I  promptly 
smashed  him.  He  knows  that  I  know,  now." 


130  LOVE   IN   IDLENESS. 

"I  should  think  so.  All  the  same — I  don't 
mean  to  be  rude  this  time,  Miss  Trehearne  — " 

"  Be  careful !  " 

"No  —  I'll  risk  it.  Just  now  when  you  said 
he  had  '  asked  you  '  —  you  stopped  short.  You 
knew  I  should  believe  that  you  had  been  going 
to  say  that  he  had  asked  you  to  marry  him, 
didn't  you?" 

"Oh,  I  know!  I  couldn't  help  it  —  I  believe 
I  really  am  a  flirt,  after  all." 

"  I  shouldn't  like  to  believe  it,"  said  Lawrence, 
gravely. 

"Nor  I  —  either.  I  only  wanted  to  see  how 
you'd  look  if  you  thought  he'd  offered  himself 
just  then." 

"  Just  then  !  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  he  has 
offered  himself  at  any  other  time  ? " 

"Now  you're  rude  again  —  only,  I  forgive  you, 
because  you  don't  know  that  you  are.  It's  rude 
to  ask  such  questions  —  so  I'll  be  polite  and 
refuse  to  answer.  Not  that  there's  any  good 
reason  why  he  shouldn't  have  asked  me  to  marry 
him,  you  know.  The  fact  that  you  hate  him 
isn't  a  reason." 


LOVE  IN  IDLENESS.  131 

"  But  you  do,  yourself  —  " 

"  Not  at  all.  At  least,  I  haven't  said  so.  I 
wish  you'd  listen  to  me,  Mr.  Lawrence,  instead 
of  interrupting  me  with  questions  every  other 
moment.  How  in  the  world  am  I  to  make 
a  confession,  if  you  won't  let  me  say  two 
words  ?  " 

"  Are  you  going  to  make  a  confession  ?  "  asked 
Lawrence,  incredulously.  "  It's  all  chaff,  you 
know!" 

Fanny  turned  her  cool  eyes  upon  him  instantly. 

"  There's  a  lot  besides  chaff,"  she  said,  in  a 
very  different  tone.  "  I  can  be  in  earnest,  too 
—  when  I  care." 

She  certainly  emphasized  the  last  three  words 
in  a  way  which  might  have  meant  much,  accom- 
panied as  they  were  by  her  steady  look.  Law- 
rence felt  himself  growing  a  little  pale  again. 

"  Do  you  care  ? "  he  asked,  and  his  voice 
shook  perceptibly. 

"  For  Mr.  Brinsley  ? "  enquired  Fanny,  in- 
stantly changing  her  tone  again  and  beginning 
to  laugh. 

"No  — for  me." 


132  LOVE  IN   IDLENESS. 

"  For  you !  Oh  dear,  what  a  question ! "  She 
laughed  outright. 

Lawrence  leaned  down  and  knocked  the  ashes 
out  of  his  pipe  against  the  toe  of  his  heavy 
walking-shoe  without  saying  a  word.  Then  he 
put  the  pipe  into  his  pocket.  She  watched  him. 

"  You've  no  right  to  be  angry  this  time,"  she 
said.  "  But  you  are." 

The  young  man  faced  her  quietly  and  waited 
a  moment  before  he  spoke. 

"  You're  playing  with  me,"  he  said,  calmly  and 
without  emphasis,  as  stating  a  fact. 

"  Of  course  I  am  ! "  laughed  Fanny  Trehearne. 
"What  did  you  expect?  But  I'm  sorry  that 
you've  found  it  out,"  she  added,  with  appalling 
cynicism.  "  It  won't  be  fun  any  more." 

"  Unless  we  both  play,"  suggested  Lawrence, 
who  had  either  recovered  his  temper  very  quickly, 
or  possessed  a  better  control  over  it  than  Fanny 
had  supposed. 

"  All  right ! "  she  exclaimed  cheerfully.  "  Let's 
play  —  let  us  play.  That  sounds  solemn,  some- 
how—  I  wonder  why?  Oh — of  course  —  it's 
like  '  Let  us  pray '  in  church." 


LOVE  IN  IDLENESS.  133 

Lawrence  laughed  drily. 

"  Let  us  pray  beforehand,  for  the  one  who  gets 
the  worst  of  it,"  he  said.  "  He  or  she  will  need 
it.  But  I  shall  win  at  the  game,  you  know. 
That's  a  foregone  conclusion." 

Fanny  was  surprised  and  amused  at  the  con- 
fidence he  suddenly  affected  —  very  unlike  his 
habitual  modesty  and  self-effacement. 

"  You  seem  pretty  sure  of  yourself,"  she  an- 
swered. "  What  shall  the  forfeit  be,  as  they  say 
in  the  children's  games  ?  " 

"  To  marry  or  not  to  marry,  at  the  discretion 
of  the  winner.  I  think  that's  fair,  don't  you  ? 
I  shouldn't  like  to  propose  anything  serious  — 
the  head  of  Roger  Brinsley  in  a  charger,  for 
instance." 

Fanny  laughed  again. 

"Yes,  it's  all  very  well !  "  she  protested.  "  But 
of  course  the  one  who  loses  will  be  in  earnest, 
and  the  one  who  wins  will  not." 

"He  may  be,  by  that  time,"  suggested  Law- 
rence. 

"  Don't  say  '  he,'  so  confidently  —  I  mean  to 
win.  Besides,  are  we  starting  fair?  Of  course 


134  LOVE   IN    IDLENESS. 

I  don't  care  an  atom  for  you,  but  don't  you  care 
for  me  —  just  a  little?  " 

"  I !  "  exclaimed  Lawrence.  "  What  an  idea !  " 
He  laughed  quite  as  naturally  as  Fanny  herself. 
"  Do  you  think  that  a  man  in  love  would  propose 
such  a  game  as  we  are  talking  about  ? "  he 
asked. 

"  I'm  sure  I  don't  know  what  to  think,"  an- 
swered the  young  girl.  "  Perhaps  I  shall  know 
in  a  day  or  two." 

She  looked  down,  quite  grave  again,  and 
pulled  a  bit  of  fern  from  the  bank,  and  crushed 
it  in  her  hand,  and  then  smelled  it. 

"  Don't  you  like  sweet  fern  ?  "  she  asked,  hold- 
ing it  out  to  him.  "  I  love  it !  " 

"  That's  why  you  crush  it,  I  suppose,"  said 
Lawrence. 

"  It  doesn't  smell  sweet  unless  you  do.  Oh  — 
I  see !  You  were  beginning  to  play  the  game. 
Very  well.  Why  should  we  lose  time  about  it  ? 
But  I  wish  it  were  a  little  better  defined.  What 
is  it  we're  going  to  do?  Won't  you  explain? 
I'm  so  stupid  about  these  things.  Are  we  going 
to  flirt  for  a  bet  ?  " 


LOVE  IN  IDLENESS.  135 

"  What  a  speech  ! " 

"  Because  it's  a  plain  one  ?  Is  that  why 
you  object  to  it  ?  After  all,  that's  what  we 
said." 

"  We  only  said  we'd  play,"  answered  Lawrence. 
"  Whichever  ends  by  caring  must  agree  to  marry 
the  winner,  if  required.  But  I'm  afraid  the  time 
is  too  short,"  he  added,  more  gravely.  "I've 
only  a  week  more." 

"  Only  a  week ! "  exclaimed  Fanny,  in  a  tone 
of  disappointment.  "  Why,  I  thought  there  was 
ever  so  much  more.  That  isn't  nearly  time 
enough." 

"  We  must  play  faster  —  and  hope  for  *  situa- 
tions,' as  they  call  them  on  the  stage." 

"  Oh  —  the  situation  is  bad  enough,  as  it  is," 
answered  the  young  girl,  with  a  change  of  man- 
ner that  surprised  her  companion.  "  If  you  only 
knew ! " 

"Was  that  what  you  were  going  to  tell  me 
about  ? "  asked  Lawrence,  quickly,  and  with  re- 
newed interest.  "  I  thought  you  were  making 
game  of  me." 

"  That's   the   trouble !      You'll    never    believe 


136 


LOVE   IN    IDLENESS. 


that  I'm  in  earnest,  now.  That's  the  worst  of 
practical  jokes.  Come  along !  We  must  be 
going  home.  The  sun's  behind  the  hill  and  ever 
so  low,  I'm  sure.  We  shan't  get  home  before 


dusk.     How   sweet    that   fern    smells !     Give    it 
back  to  me,  won't  you  ?  " 

They  rose  and  began  to  walk  homeward  in  the 
warm  shadow  of  the  woods.  As  before,  Fanny 
went  first  along  the  narrow  path,  and  Lawrence, 
following  close  behind  her,  .and  watching  the 


LOVE   IN   IDLENESS. 


187 


supple  grace  of  her  as  she  moved,  breathed 
in  also  the  intoxicating  perfume  of  the  aro- 
matic sweet  fern  which  she  still  carried  in  her 
hand. 


CHAPTER    IX. 

N  the  following  afternoon  Fanny  Tre- 
hearne  announced  her  intention  of 
riding  with  Mr.  Brinsley. 

"  I'd  take  you,  too,"  she  said  to 
Lawrence,  with  a  singularly  cold  stare.  "  Only 
as  you  can't  ride  much,  you  wouldn't  enjoy  it, 
you  know." 

"  Certainly  not,"  answered  Lawrence,  returning 
her  glance  with  all  coolness.  "  I  shouldn't  enjoy 
it  at  all." 

"  You  might  take  my  cousins  out  in  the  boat, 
instead." 

"  Are  they  tired  of  life  ?  "  "enquired  the  young 
man,  smiling.  "  No.  I  want  to  make  a  sketch 
in  the  woods.  I'll  go  out  by  myself,  thank  you." 

138 


LOVE  IN  IDLENESS.  139 

"  Do  you  mean  to  sketch  the  place  where  we 
stopped  yesterday  ? " 

"Oh  no — I'm  going  in  quite  another  direc- 
tion. I  can't  exactly  explain  where  it  is,  because 
I've  such  a  bad  memory  for  names  of  roads,  and 
all  that.  But  I  can  find  it." 

Miss  Cordelia  Miner  looked  up  from  the 
magazine  she  was  reading. 

"  You're  not  going  to  ride  alone  with  Mr. 
Brinsley,  are  you  ?  "  she  asked  suddenly. 

"  Why  not  ? "  asked  Fanny.  "  I  don't  see  any 
reason  why  I  shouldn't.  It's  safer  than  riding 
alone,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  I  confess,  I  don't  like  the  idea,"  said  Miss 
Cordelia.  "  It  looks  as  though  there  were  some- 
thing." 

"  Something  of  what  kind  ?  "  Fanny  watched 
Lawrence's  face. 

"  Something  —  well  —  not  really  an  engage- 
ment—  but  —  " 

"Well — why  shouldn't  I  be  engaged  to  Mr. 
Brinsley,  if  I  like  ? "  enquired  the  young  girl, 
arching  her  brows. 

"  Why,  Fanny !     I'm  surprised  !  "    And,  indeed, 


14<)  LOVE  IN   IDLENESS. 

Miss  Miner  seemed  so,  for  she  almost  sprang 
out  of  her  chair. 

"  I  don't  know  why  you  need  be  horrified, 
though,"  returned  Fanny,  calmly.  "  Should  you 
be  shocked  if  any  one  said  that  you  were  engaged 
to  Mr.  Brinsley?  What's  the  matter  with  him, 
anyway  ? "  she  demanded,  dropping  into  her 
favourite  slang.  "  You'd  be  proud  to  be  en- 
gaged to  him  —  so  would  Elizabeth  —  so  would 
Augusta !  Then  why  shouldn't  I  be  proud  if 
I  can  get  him  ?  I'm  sure,  he's  awfully  good- 
looking,  and  he  rides  —  like  an  angel." 

"  An  angel  jockey,"  suggested  Lawrence,  with- 
out a  smile. 

"  Not  at  all !  "  exclaimed  Fanny.  "  He  rides 
like  a  gentleman  and  not  in  the  least  like  a 
jockey." 

Miss  Cordelia  had  risen  from  her  chair,  and 
turned  her  back  on  the  young  people. 

"  You've  no  right  to  say  such  things  to  me, 
Fanny,"  she  said,  going  slowly  towards  the 
window.  Her  voice  shook. 

The  young  girl  saw  that  she  was  deeply  hurt, 
and  followed  her  quickly. 


LOVE  IN  IDLENESS.  141 

"  I  didn't  mean  to  be  horrid ! "  said  Fanny, 
penitently.  "  I  was  only  laughing,  you  know, 
and  of  course  I  shall  take  Stebbins.  And  I'm 
not  engaged  to  Mr.  Brinsley  at  all." 

"  Why  didn't  you  say  so  at  once  ? "  asked 
Cordelia,  half  choking,  and  turning  away  her 
face. 

Fanny,  unseen  by  her  cousin,  glanced  at  Law- 
rence, and  then  at  the  door,  and  the  young  man 
departed  immediately,  leaving  the  two  cousins 
to  make  peace. 

He  did  not  remain  long  in  the  house.  Thrust- 
ing a  sketch-book  and  a  pencil  into  his  pocket, 
with  his  pipe  and  pouch,  he  went  out  without 
seeing  Fanny  again,  taking  her  at  her  word  with 
regard  to  her  plans  for  the  afternoon.  An  hour 
later,  he  was  seated  under  a  tree  high  upon 
the  side  of  the  hill  and  almost  out  of  sight  of 
the  Otter  Cliff  road.  There  was  nothing  par- 
ticular in  the  way  of  a  view  from  that  point, 
but  there  were  endless  trees,  and  Lawrence 
amused  himself  in  making  a  rough  study  of  a 
mixed  group  of  white  pines,  firs,  and  hackma- 
tacks. 


142  LOVE  IN   IDLENESS. 

He  did  not  draw  very  carefully,  nor  even  in- 
dustriously, and  more  than  once  he  stopped 
working  altogether  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour  at 
a  time.  His  principal  object  in  coming  had 
been  to  get  out  of  the  way  just  a  little  more 
promptly  and  completely  than  Fanny  could  have 
expected.  His  thoughts  were  much  more  con- 
cerned with  her  than  with  what  he  was  doing. 

Naturally  enough,  he  was  trying  to  under- 
stand the  real  bent  of  the  girl's  feelings.  Set- 
ting aside  the  absurd  chaff  which  had  formed 
a  good  deal  of  the  conversation  on  the  previous 
afternoon,  he  tried  to  extract  from  it  enough 
of  truth  to  guide  him,  aiding  himself  by  recall- 
ing little  circumstances  as  well  as  words,  for 
the  one  had  often  belied  the  other. 

He  saw  clearly  that  Fanny  Trehearne  might 
have  said  to  him,  '  I  like  you,  but  I  do  not 
love  you  —  win  me  if  you  can  ! '  But  it  was  like 
her  to  propose  to  'flirt  for  a  bet' — being  at 
heart  perhaps  less  of  a  flirt  than  she  laugh- 
ingly admitted  herself  to  be.  But  that  was  not 
the  point  which  chiefly  interested  him.  What 
he  wished  to  know  was,  just  how  far  that  un- 


LOVE  IN  IDLENESS.  143 

defined  liking  for  him  extended.  To  speak  in 
the  common  phrase,  he  did  not  '  know  where 
he  was '  with  her,  and  it  seemed  that  he  had 
no  means  of  finding  out.  On  the  other  hand, 
he  knew  very  well  indeed  that  he  himself  was 
badly  in  love.  The  symptoms  were  not  to  be 
mistaken,  nor  had  he  been  in  love  so  often 
already  as  to  make  him  sceptical  as  to  what 
he  felt.  He  was  more  distrustful  of  the  result 
than  of  the  impulse. 

In  his  opinion  Fanny  was  much  too  frank  to 
be  a  flirt.  Her  directness  was  one  of  her  princi- 
pal charms,  though  he  could  not  help  suspecting 
that  it  must  be  one  of  her  chief  weapons.  A 
little  hesitation  is  often  less  deceptive  than  clear- 
eyed,  outspoken  truth.  But  Lawrence  was  no 
more  able  than  most  men  of  Jii?  age  —  or,  indeed, 
of  any  age  —  to  follow  out  a  continuous  train 
of  thought  where  a  woman  was  concerned.  It 
is  more  often  the  woman's  personality  that  con- 
cerns us,  unreasoning  men,  than  the  probable 
direction  of  her  own  reasoning  about  us.  We 
do  not  make  love  to  an  argument,  so  to  speak, 
nor  to  a  set  of  ideas,  nor  to  a  preconceived 

1— Vol.  9 


144  LOVE  IN   IDLENESS. 

opinion  of  our  merits  or  demerits.  We  make 
love  to  our  own  idea  of  what  the  woman  is  — 
and  the  depth  of  our  disillusionment  is  the 
measure  of  our  sincerity,  when  love  is  gasping 
between  the  death-blow  and  the  death. 

Moreover,  what  is  called  nowadays  analysis 
of  human  nature,  belongs  in  reality  to  transcen- 
dental thought.  '  Transcendent '  is  defined  as 
designating  that  which  lies  beyond  the  bounds  of 
all  possible  experience.  So  far  as  we  know,  it  is 
beyond  those  bounds  to  enter  into  the  intelli- 
gence of  our  neighbour,  subjectively,  to  identify 
ourselves  with  him  and  to  see  and  understand 
the  world  with  his  eyes  and  mind.  It  follows 
that  we  are  never  sure  of  what  we  are  doing 
when  we  attempt  to  set  down  exactly  another 
man's  train  of  thought,  and  it  follows  also  that 
few  are  willing  to  recognize  the  result  as  at  all 
resembling  the  process  of  which  they  are  con- 
scious within  themselves.-  On  certain  bases,  all 
men  can  appeal  subjectively  to  all  men,  and  all 
women  to  all  women.  But,  as  between  the  sexes, 
all  observation  is  objective  and  tentative,  whether 
it  be  that  of  the  author,  condemned  to  analyze 


LOVE  IN  IDLENESS.  145 

a  woman's  character,  or  that  of  the  man  in  love 
and  attempting  to  understand  the  woman  he 
loves. 

And  further,  if  we  could  see  —  as  it  is  pre- 
tended by  some  that  we  can  see  on  paper  — 
precisely  what  is  taking  place  in  the  intelligence 
of  those  we  meet  in  the  world,  our  friends  would 
be  as  unrecognizable  to  us  as  a  dissected  man  is 
unrecognizable  for  a  human  being  except  in  the 
eyes  of  a  doctor.  The  soul,  laid  bare,  dissected, 
and  turned  inside  out,  with  real  success,  would 
not  be  recognized  by  its  dearest  friend,  were  it 
ever  so  truthful  a  soul.  We  are  all  fundamen- 
tally and  totally  incapable  of  expressing  exactly 
what  we  feel,  and  as  we  have  no  means  of  con- 
veying truth  without  some  sort  of  expression,  we 
are  helpless  and  are  all  more  or  less  hopelessly 
misunderstood. —  a  fact  to  which,  if  we  please, 
we  may  ascribe  that  variety  which  is  proverbially 
said  to  b£  the  charm  of  life.  Doubtless,  this  is 
a  literary  heresy;  but  it  is  a  human  truth  a. little 
above  literature. 

Lawrence  had  never  attempted  to  write  a 
book,  but  as  he  sat  on  the  slope  above  the  Otter 


146  LOVE  IN  IDLENESS. 

Cliff  road,  drawing  trees,  it  did  not  occur  to  him 
to  draw  a  picture  of  what  he  thought  about  the 
inside  of  each  tree,  instead  of  a  representation 
of  what  he  saw.  •  But  he  made  the  usual  fruitless 
attempt  to  understand  the  woman  he  loved,  and 
to  reason  about  her,  and  failed  to  do  either, 
which  is  also  usual.  The  conclusion  he  reached 
was  that  he  loved  her,  of  which  he  had  been 
aware  before  he  had  set  himself  to  think  it 
out. 

What  he  saw  was  a  strong  girl's  face  with  cool, 
inscrutable  grey  eyes  that  "never  took  fire  and 
gleamed,  nor  ever  turned  dull  and  vacant.  Their 
unchanging  steadiness  contradicted  the  wayward 
speech,  the  sudden  capricious  confidence,  even 
the  gay  laugh,  sometimes.  Lawrence  had  a  lively 
impression  that  whatever  Fanny  said  or  did,  she 
never  meant  but  one  thing,  whatever  that  might 
be.  And  with  this  impression  he  was  obliged  to 
content  himself. 

From  the  place  where  he  sat,  he  had  a  glimpse 
between  the  trees  of  the  road  below.  On  the  side 
towards  him  there  was  a  little  open  bit  of  meadow, 
where  the  gorge  widened,  and  a  low  fence  with  a 


LOVE  IN   IDLENESS.  147 

little  ditch  separated  it  from  the  highway.  On  the 
hillside,  above  this  stretch  of  grass,  the  trees  grew 
here  and  there,  wide  apart  at  first,  and  then  by 
degrees  more  close  together.  He  himself  was 
seated  just  within  the  thick  wood,  at  the  edge  of 
the  first  underbrush. 

Now  and  then,  people  passed  along  the  road: 
a  light  buckboard  drawn  by  a  pair  of  bays  and 
containing  a  smart-looking  couple,  with  no  groom 
behind ;  a  farmer's  wagon,  long,  hooded,  and 
dusty,  dragged  at  a  disjointed  trot  by  a  broken- 
down  grey  horse ;  a  solitary  rider,  whose  varnished 
shoes  reflected  the  sunlight  even  to  where  Law- 
rence was  sitting ;  a  couple  of  pedestrians ;  a  lad 
driving  a  cow ;  and  then  another  buckboard  ;  and 
so  on. 

Lawrence  was  thinking  of  shutting  up  his  book 
and  climbing  higher  up  the  steep  side  of  New- 
port Mountain  —  as  the  hill  is  called  —  in  search 
of  another  study,  when,  glancing  down  through 
the  trees,  he  saw  three  riders  coming  slowly  along 
the  road  —  two  in  front,  and  one  at  some  distance 
behind  —  a  lady  and  gentleman  and  then  a  groom. 
His  eyes  were  good,  and  he  would  have  known 


148  LOVE  IN  IDLENESS. 

Fanny  Trehearne's  figure  and  bearing  even  at  a 
greater  distance.  She  sat  so  straight  —  hands 
down,  elbows  in,  head  high,  square  in  her  saddle 
yet  flexible,  and  all  moving  with  every  movement 
of  her  Kentucky  thoroughbred.  They  came 
nearer,  and  Lawrence  saw  them  distinctly  now. 
Brinsley  was  beside  her.  Lawrence  laughed  to 
himself  at  the  idea  that  the  man  could  ever  have 
been  in  the  Marines.  He  sat  the  horse  he  rode 
much  more  like  a  Mexican  or  an  Indian  than  like 
a  sailor  or  a  marine.  Even  at  that  distance  Law- 
rence could  not  help  admiring  his  really  magnifi- 
cent figure,  for  Brinsley 's  perfections  were  showy 
and  massed  well  afar  off. 

The  riders  reached  the  point  where  the  little 
meadow  spread  out  on  their  left,  and  to  Law- 
rence's surprise,  they  halted  and  seemed  to  be 
consulting  about  something.  They  had  turned 
towards  him,  and  as  they  talked,  he  could  see 
that  Fanny  looked  across  the  meadow  and  up  at 
the  woods  where  he  was  sitting.  It  was  of  course 
utterly  impossible  that  she  should  have  known 
where  he  was,  and  it  was  almost  incredible  that 
she  should  see  him,  seated  low  upon  the  ground 


LOVE   IN   IDLENESS.  140 

in  the  deep  shade,  when  she  was  only  visible  to 
him  between  the  stems  of  the  trees.  Neverthe- 
less, not  caring  to  be  discovered,  he  crouched 
down  amongst  the  ferns  and  grasses,  still  keeping 
his  eye  on  the  couple  in  the  road  far  below. 

Presently  he  saw  Fanny  turn  her  horse's  head, 
walk  her  to  the  other  side  of  the  road,  and  turn 
again,  facing  the  meadow.  She  looked  up  and 
down  the  road  once,  saw  that  no  one  was  com- 
ing, and  put  her  mare  at  the  fence.  It  was  a  low 
one,  and  the  ditch  on  the  outer  side  was  neither 
broad  nor  deep.  The  thoroughbred  cleared  it 
with  a  contemptuously  insignificant  effort,  and 
cantered  a  few  strides  forward  into  the  grass, 
shaking  her  bony  head  almost  between  her  knees 
as  Fanny  brought  her  to  a  stand  and  turned 
again.  Brinsley  followed  her  on  the  big  Hun- 
garian horse  he  rode,  —  Mr.  Trehearne's  horse,  — 
jumping  the  fence  and  ditch,  and  taking  them 
again  almost  immediately,  to  wait  for  Fanny  on 
the  other  side  in  the  road.  She  followed  again, 
and  pulled  up  by  his  side.  But  they  did  not  ride 
on  at  once.  They  seemed  to  be  discussing  some 
point  connected  with  the  place,  for  they  pointed 


150  LOVE  IN  IDLENESS. 

here  and  there  with  their  hands  as  they  spoke. 
Fanny  reined  in  her  mare  and  backed  a  little,  as 
though  she  were  going  to  jump  again.  The  ani- 
mal seemed  nervous,  stamping  and  pawing,  and 
laying  back  her  small  ears. 

A  hundred  yards  or  more  in  the  direction  from 
which  they  had  come  the  road  made  a  short  bend 
round  the  foot  of  the  spur  of  the  hill,  known  as 
Pickett's.  Just  as  Fanny  put  the  mare  at  the 
fence  a  third  time,  a  coach  and  four  turned  the 
corner  of  the  road  at  a  smart  pace,  leaders  canter- 
ing and  wheelers  at  a  long  trot. 

Seeing  three  horses  apparently  halting  in  the 
way,  some  one  in  the  coach  sent  a  terrific  and 
discordant  blast  from  a  post-horn  ringing  along 
the  road  as  a  warning.  At  that  moment  Fanny's 
mare  was  rising  at  the  bars.  She  cleared  them 
as  easily  as  ever,  but  on  reaching  the  ground  in- 
stantly bolted  across  the  grass,  head  down,  ears' 
back,  heels  flying.  It  all  happened  in  a  moment. 
The  two  men,  Brinsley  and  groom,  knew  too 
much  to  scare  the  thoroughbred  by  a  pursuit,  and 
confident  in  Fanny's  good  riding,  sat  motionless 
on  their  horses  in  the  road,  after  drawing  away 
enough  to  let  the  coach  pass. 


LOVE   IN   IDLENESS.  151 

The  idiot  with  the  horn  continued  to  blow 
fiercely,  and  the  big  vehicle  came  swinging  along 
at  a  great  rate,  with  clattering  of  hoofs,  for  the 
road  was  hard  and  dry-baked  after  a  recent  rain 
—  and  with  jingling  of  harness  and  sound  of 
voices.  The  mare  grew  more  and  more  fright- 
ened, and  tore  up  the  hillside  like  a  flash,  directly 
away  from  the  noise.  The  young  girl  was  a 
first-rate  rider  and  knew  the  fearful  danger,  if  she 
should  be  carried  at  such  a  pace  amongst  the 
trees.  But  her  strength,  great  as  it  was,  for 
a  woman,  was  not  able  to  produce  the  slight- 
est impression  upon  the  terrified  creature  she 
rode. 

Lawrence  knew  nothing  of  riding,  but  the 
imminent  peril  of  the  woman  he  loved  was  clear 
to  him  in  a  moment.  He  had  a  horrible  vision 
of  the  wild-eyed  mare  tearing  straight  towards 
him  through  the  trees  —  wide  apart  at  first,  and 
then  dangerously  near  together. 

On  they  came,  the  thoroughbred  swerving 
violently  at  one  stem  after  another  —  the  young 
girl's  strong  figure  swaying  to  her  balance  at 
each  headlong  movement.  He  could  see  her  set 


152 


LOVE  IN  IDLENESS. 


face,  pale  under  the  tan,  and  he  could  see  the 
desperate  exertion  of  her  strength.  He  sprang 
forward  and  ran  down  between  the  trees  at  the 
top  of  his  speed. 


CHAPTER    X. 

HERE  is  nothing  equal  to  the  abso- 
lute fearlessness  of  a  naturally  brave 
man  who  has  no  experience  of  the 
risk  he  runs  and  is  bent  on  saving 
the  life  of  the  woman  he  loves.  Louis  Lawrence 
remembered  afterwards  what  he  had  done  and 
how  he  had  done  it,  but  he  was  unconscious  of 
what  he  wa3  doing  at  the  time. 

He  rushed  down  the  hill  between  the  closer 
trees,  and  with  utter  recklessness  sprang  at  the 
bridle  as  the  infuriated  mare  dashed  past  him. 
Grasping  snaffle  and  curb  —  tight  drawn  as  they 
were  —  in  both  hands,  he  threw  all  his  light 
weight  upon  them  and  allowed  himself  to  be 

153 


154  LOVE  IN  IDLENESS. 

dragged  along  the  ground  between  the  trees  at 
the  imminent  risk  of  his  life  —  a  risk  so  terrible 
that  Fanny  Trehearne  turned  paler  for  him  than 
for  her  own  danger.  In  half  a  dozen  more 
strides  they  might  both  have  been  killed.  But 
the  mare  stopped,  quivering,  tried  to  rear,  but 
could  not  lift  Lawrence  far  from  the  ground  nor 
shake  off  his  desperate  hold,  plunged  once  and 
again,  and  then  stood  quite  still,  trembling  vio- 
lently. Lawrence  scrambled  to  his  feet,  still 
holding  the  bridle,  and  promptly  placed  himself 
in  front  of  the  mare. 

For  one  breathless  instant,  Lawrence  looked 
into  Fanny's  face,  and  neither  spoke  nor  moved. 
Both  were  still  very  pale.  Then  the  young  girl 
slipped  off,  the  reins  in  her  hand. 

"  That  was  uncommonly  well  done,"  she  said, 
with  great  calm.  "  You've  saved  my  life." 

She  no  longer  looked  at  him  while  she  spoke, 
but  patted  and  stroked  the  thoroughbred,  looking 
her  over  with  a  critical  eye. 

"  Oh  —  that's  all  right,"  answered  Lawrence. 
"  Don't  mention  it !  " 

He  laughed   nervously,  still  panting  from  his 


LOVE  IN   IDLENESS.  155 

violent  exertion.  Fanny  herself  was  not  out  of 
breath,  but  the  colour  did  not  come  back  to  her 
sunburnt  cheeks  at  once,  and  her  hand  was 
hardly  steady  yet.  She  did  not  laugh  with 
Lawrence,  nor  even  smile,  but  she  looked  long 
into  his  eyes. 

"  I  may  not  mention  it,  but  I  shan't  forget  it," 
she  said  slowly. 

"It's  one  to  me,  isn't  it  ?  "  asked  Lawrence, 
who,  in  reality,  was  by  far  the  cooler  and  more 
collected  of  the  two. 

"  How  do  you  mean  ?  "  enquired  Fanny,  knit- 
ting her  brows  half  angrily. 

• "  One  to  me  —  in  our  game,  you  know,"  said 
the  young  fellow.  "  The  game  we  agreed  to 
play,  yesterday." 

"  Yes  —  it's  one  to  you.  By  the  bye  —  you're 
not  hurt  anywhere,  are  you  ?  " 

She  looked  him  over,  as  she  had  looked  over 
her  mare,  with  the  same  critical  glance.  His 
clothes  were  a  little  torn,  here  and  there,  being 
but  light  summer  things,  and  his  hat  had  disap- 
peared, but  it  was  tolerably  clear  that  he  was  in 
no  way  injured. 


156  LOVE  IN  IDLENESS. 

"  Oh,  I'm  all  right,"  he  answered  cheerfully. 
"  I  should  think  you'd  feel  badly  shaken,  though," 
he  added,  with  sudden  anxiety. 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  Fanny,  determined  to  show 
no  more  emotion  or  excitement  than  he.  "  It 
was  a  case  of  sitting  still  —  neck  or  nothing. 
It's  nothing,  as  it  happens." 

At  that  moment  Brinsley  appeared,  riding 
slowly  through  the  trees,  for  fear  of  frightening 
the  mare  again. 

"  Are  you  hurt  ?  "  he  shouted. 

Fanny  looked  round,  saw  him,  and  shook  her- 
head,  with    a   smile.      Brinsley   trotted    up   and 
sprang  from  his  horse. 

"  Are  you  sure  you're  not  hurt  ? "  he  asked 
again. 

"  Not  in  the  least !  " 

"  Thank  God ! "  ejaculated  Brinsley,  with  em- 
phasis. 

"  You'd  better  thank  Mr.  Lawrence,  too,"  ob- 
served Fanny,  quietly.  "  He  caught  her  going 
at  a  gallop,  and  hung  on  and  was  dragged.  I 
don't  remember  ever  seeing  anything  quite  so 
plucky." 


LOVE  IN  IDLENESS.  157 

Brinsley'  looked  coldly  at  his  rival,  and  his 
beady  eyes  seemed  nearer  together  than  usual 
when  he  spoke  to  him. 

"  I  think  you're  quite  as  much  to  be  congratu- 
lated as  Miss  Trehearne,"  he  said. 

"  Thanks." 

"  We'd  better  be  getting  down  to  the  road 
again,"  said  Fanny.  "  You  can  lead  the  mare 
and  your  own  horse,  too,  Mr.  Brinsley.  She's 
quiet  enough  now,  and  I've  all  I  can  do  to  walk 
in  these  things." 

Brinsley  took  the  mare's  bridle  over  her  head 
and  led  the  way  with  the  two  horses. 

"  Aren't  you  coming  ? "  asked  Fanny,  seeing 
that  Lawrence  did  not  follow. 

"  Thanks  —  no,"  he  answered.  "  I  must  find 
my  hat,  in  the  first  place." 

Brinsley  looked  over  his  shoulder,  and  saw 
the  two  hanging  back.  He  stopped  a  moment, 
turning,  and  laying  one  hand  on  the  mare's  nose. 

"  You  must  be  shaken,  Mr.  Lawrence,"  he 
said.  "  Why  don't  you  take  the  groom's  horse 
and  ride  home  with  us  ?  " 

"  I    can't    ride,"    answered   the    younger   man, 


158  LOVE  IN  IDLENESS. 

loud  enough  for  Brinsley  to  hear  him.  "  And 
you  know  it  perfectly  well,"  he  added  under  his 
breath. 

Fanny  frowned,  but  took  no  further  notice 
of  the  remark. 

"  Good-bye,"  she  said,  holding  out  her  hand 
to  Lawrence.  "  Come  home  as  soon  as  you  can, 
won't  you  ? " 

"Oh  yes  —  that  is,  I  think  I'll  just  see  you 
take  that  fence  again,  and  then  I  want  to  get 
a  little  higher  up  the  hill  and  do  another  bit  of 
a  sketch.  Then  I'll  come  home.  There's  no 
hurry,  is  there  ?  " 

"Don't  show  off,"  said  Fanny,  severely.  "It 
isn't  pretty.  Good-bye." 

She  walked  fast  and  overtook  Brinsley  in  a 
few  moments.  At  the  foot  of  the  hilt  he  pre- 
pared to  mount  her,  leaving  his  own  horse  to 
the  groom.  Then  a  thing  happened  which  he 
was  never  able  to  explain,  though  he  was  an 
expert  in  the  field  and  no  one  could  mount  a 
lady  better  than  he,  of  all  Fanny's  acquaintances. 
He  bent  his  knee  and  held  out  his  hand  and 
stiffened  his  back  and  made  the  necessary  effort 


LOVE  IN  IDLENESS.  159 

just  at  the  right  moment,  as  he  very  well  knew. 
But  for  some  inexplicable  reason  Fanny  did  not 
reach  the  saddle,  nor  anywhere  near  it,  and  she 
slipped  and  would  certainly  have  fallen  if  he  had 
not  caught  her  with  his  other  hand  and  held  her 
on  her  feet. 

"  How  awkward  you  are ! "  she  exclaimed 
viciously,  with  a  little  stamp.  "  Let  me  get  on 
alone!" 

And  thereupon,  to  his  astonishment  and  mor- 
tification, she  pushed  him  aside,  set  her  foot  in 
the  stirrup,  —  for  she  was  very  tall  and  could  do 
it  easily,  —  and  was  up  in  a  flash.  Lawrence, 
looking  down  at  them  from  the  edge  of  the 
woods,  saw  what  had  happened,  and  so  did 
Stebbins,  the  groom,  who  grinned  in  silence. 
He  hated  Brinsley,  and  it  is  a  bad  sign  when 
a  good  servant  hates  his  master's  guest.  Law- 
rence felt  that  in  addition  to  scoring  one  in  the 
game,  he  was  avenged  on  his  enemy  for  the 
latter's  taunting  invitation  to  ride. 

"  I  think  I  may  count  that,  and  mark  two. 
I'm  sure  she  did  it  on  purpose,"  he  said  audibly 
to  himself. 


160 


LOVE   IN   IDLENESS. 


Before  Brinsley  was  mounted,  Fanny  was  over 
the  fence  with  her  mare,  and  waiting  for  him  in 
the  road. 

"  Oh,  come  along  !  "  she  cried.  "  Don't  be  all 
day  getting  on  !  " 


"  You  needn't  be  so  tremendously  rough  on  a 
fellow,"  said  Brinsley,  as  his  horse  landed  in  the 
road.  "  It  wasn't  my  fault  that  I  wasn't  waiting 
for  a  runaway  under  the  trees  up  there." 


LOVE  IN  IDLENESS.  161 

« 

"  Yes  it  was !  Everything's  your  fault," 
answered  Fanny,  emphatically.  "  No  —  you 
needn't  play  Orlando  Furioso  and  make  papa's 
old  rocking-horse  waltz  like  that.  My  mare's 
got  to  walk  a  mile,  at  least,  for  her  nerves." 

It  didn't  require  Brinsley's  great  natural  pene- 
tration to  tell  him  that  Miss  Fanny  Trehearne 
was  in  the  very  worst  of  tempers  —  even  to  the 
point  of  unfairly  calling  her  papa's  sturdy  Hun- 
garian bad  names.  But  he  could  not  at  all  see 
why  she  should  be  so  angry.  It  had  certainly 
been  her  fault  if  he  had  failed  to  put  her  neatly  in 
the  saddle.  But  her  ill-humour  did  not  frighten 
him  in  the  least,  though  he  was  very  quiet  for 
several  minutes  after  she  had  last  spoken. 

"  It's  not  wildly  gay  to  ride  with  people  who 
don't  talk,"  observed  Fanny. 

"  I  was  trying  to  think  of  something  appro- 
priate to  say,"  answered  Brinsley.  "  But  you're 
in  such  an  awful  rage  —  " 

"  Am  I  ?  I  didn't  know  it.  What  makes  you 
think  so  ?  " 

"  What  nerves  you've  got !  "  exclaimed  Brins- 
ley, in  a  tone  of  admiration. 


162  LOVE  IN  IDLENESS. 

"  I  haven't  any  nerves  at  all." 

"  I  mean  good  nerves." 

"  I  tell  you  I  haven't  any  nerves.  Why  do 
you  talk  about  nerves  ?  They're  not  amusing 
things  to  have,  are  they  ?  " 

"Well  —  in  point  of  humour — I  didn't  say 
they  were." 

"  I  asked  you  to  say  something  amusing,  and 
you  began  talking  about  nerves,"  said  Fanny, 
in  explanation. 

"  I'm  not  in  luck  to-day,"  said  Brinsley,  after 
a  pause. 

"  No  —  you're  not,"  was  the  answer ;  but  she 
did  not  vouchsafe  him  a  glance. 

"  I  wish  you'd  like  me,"  he  said  boldly. 

"  I  do  —  at  a  certain  distance.  You  look  well 
in  the  landscape  —  and  you  know  it." 

"  Upon  my  word  !  "  Brinsley  laughed  roughly, 
and  looked  between  his  horse's  ears. 

"  Upon  your  word  — what  ?  " 

"  I  never  had  anything  said  to  me  quite  equal 
to  that,  Miss  Trehearne." 

"  No  ?  I'm  surprised.  Perhaps  you  haven't 
known  the  right  sort  of  people.  You  must  find 
the  truth  refreshing." 


LOVE   IN    IDLENESS.  163 

Brinsley  waited  a  few  moments  before  speak- 
ing, and  then,  turning  his  head,  looked  at  her 
with  great  earnestness. 

"  I  wish  you'd  tell  me  why  you've  taken  such 
a  sudden  dislike  to  me,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice. 

"  Why  are  you  so  anxious  to  know,  Mr.  Brins- 
ley ? "  asked  Fanny,  meeting  his  eyes  quietly. 

"  Because  I  believe  that  somebody  has  been 
saying  disagreeable  things  about  me  to  you," -he 
answered.  "  If  that's  the  case,  it  would  be  fair 
to  give  me  a  chance,  you  know." 

"  Nobody's  been  talking  against  you.  You've 
talked  against  yourself.  Besides,",  she  added, 
her  face  suddenly  clearing,  "  it's  quite  absurd 
to  make  such  a  fuss  about  nothing!  I'm  only 
angry  about  nothing  at  all.  It's  my  way,  you 
know.  You  mustn't  mind.  I'll  get  over  it 
before  we're  at  home,  and  then  I'll  go  off,  and 
my  cousins  will  give  you  lots  of  weak  tea  and 
flattery." 

Brinsley,  who  was  clever  at  most  things,  was 
not  good  at  talking  nor  at  understanding  a 
woman's  moods,  and  he  felt  himself  at  so  great 
a  disadvantage  that  he  slipped  into  an  inane 


164  LOVE   IN   IDLENESS. 

conversation  about  people  and  parties  without 
succeeding  in  finding  out  what  he  wished  to 
know.  If  he  had  ever  conceived  any  mad  hope 
of  winning  Fanny's  affections,  he  abandoned  .it 
then  and  there.  He  was  still  further  handi- 
capped, had  Fanny  known  it,  by  the  desperate 
state  of  his  own  affairs  at  that  moment ;  and  if 
she  had  known  something  of  his  reflexions,  she 
might  have  pitied  him  a  little  —  what  she  might 
have  thought,  if  she  had  guessed  the  remainder, 
is  hard  to  guess,  for  he  had  a  very  curious 
scheme  in  his  mind  for  improving  his  finances. 
He  had  been  playing  high  for  some  time,  had 
lost  steadily,  and  was  at  the  end  of  his  present 
resources,  which,  with  him,  meant  that  he  was 
at  the  end  of  all  he  had  in  the  world. 

He  was  not  by  any  means  inclined  to  give  up 
the  pleasant  intimacy  he  had  formed  and  fostered 
with  the  three  Miss  Miners,  nor  the  attendant 
luxuries  which  he  had  gained  with  it,  and  the 
introduction  to  Bar  Harbour  society,  which 
meant  good  society  elsewhere.  But  he  felt  that 
he  had  no  choice,  since  the  cards  went  against 
him.  He  was  not  a  sharper.  He  played  fair,  for 


LOVE  IN  IDLENESS.  165 

the  sake  of  the  enjoyment  of  the  thing.  It  was 
his  one  great  passion.  When  he  was  in  luck  he 
won  enough  for  his  extravagant  needs,  for  he  al- 
ways played  high,  on  principle.  But  when  fortune 
foiled  him,  he  had  other  talents  of  a  more  curious 
description,  by  the  exercise  of  which  to  replenish 
his  purse  —  talents,  too,  which  he  had  exercised 
in  America  for  a  long  time.  His  happy  hunting- 
ground  was  really  London,  which  accounted  for 
his  evident  and  almost  extraordinary  familiarity 
with  its  ways.  There  are  indeed  few  places  in 
the  world  where  a  man  may  follow  a  doubtful 
occupation  more  freely  and  more  successfully. 

Before  they  reached  the  Trehearnes'  house, 
Brinsley  had  made  up  his  mind  that  he  must 
drink  his  last  cup  of  tea  with  the  three  Miss 
Miners  on  that  day  or  very  soon  afterwards, 
unless  he  were  to  be  even  more  fortunate  in  his 
undertaking  than  he  dared  to  expect.  The  im- 
mediate consequence  was  an  affectation  of  a  sad 
and  stately  manner  towards  Fanny  as  he  helped 
her  off  her  mare  at  the  door. 

"  I'm  afraid  this  has  been  our  last  ride,"  he 
said,  in  a  subdued  voice. 


166  LOVE   IN    IDLENESS. 

"  What  ?  Oh  — '  The  Last  Ride  '  —  Browning 
—  I  remember,"  answered  Fanny. 

"No  —  I  wasn't  alluding  to  Browning.  I'm 
going  away  very  soon." 

Fanny  stared  at  him  in  some  surprise. 

"Oh!  Are  you?  I  am  very  sorry."  She 
spoke  cheerfully,  and  led  the  way  into  the  house, 
Brinsley  following  her,  with  a  dejected  air. 
"  You'll  probably  find  my  cousins  in  the  library," 
she  added.  "  I'm  going  to  take  off  my  hat —  it's 
so  hot." 

The  three  Miss  Miners  were  assembled,  as 
usual  at  that  hour,  and  greeted  Brinsley  effu- 
sively. Not  wishing  to  be  anticipated  by  Fanny 
in  telling  a  story  altogether  to  Lawrence's  credit, 
he  began  to  tell  the  three  ladies  of  what  had 
happened  during  the  ride.  He  was  very  careful 
to  explain  that  he  had  of  course  not  dared  to 
follow  the  runaway,  lest  he  should  have  made 
matters  much  worse. 

"  It's  quite  dreadful,"  cried  Miss  Cordelia,  on 
hearing  of  Fanny's  narrow  escape.  "  You  should 
never  have  let  her  jump  the  fence  at  all.  What 
do  people  do  such  mad  things-  for !  " 


LOVE   IN   IDLENESS.  167 

"  If  anything  happened  to  the  child,  we  might 
as  well  kill  ourselves,"  said  Elizabeth.  "  It's  too 
dreadful  to  think  of  !  " 

"  Well,"  answered  Brinsley,  "  nothing  has  hap- 
pened, you  see.  I've  brought  Miss  Trehearne 
safe  home,  though  I  hadn't  the  good  fortune  to 
be  the  man  who  stopped  her  horse.  You  see," 
he  added,  smiling,  "I  want  all  the  credit  you  can 
spare  from  Mr.  Lawrence.  I'm  afraid  there's  not 
much  to  be  got,  though.  He's  had  the  lion's 
share." 

"  And  where  is  he  ? "  asked  Augusta,  who 
felt  more  sympathy  for  the  artist  than  the 
others. 

"Oh — he'll  come  back.  He  can't  ride,  you 
know,  so  he  had  to  walk,  poor  fellow!  He'd 
been  pretty  badly  shaken,  too,  and  he's  not 
strong,  I'm  sure." 

"You  wouldn't  have  called  him  weak  if  you'd 
seen  him  hanging  on  while  the  mare  dragged 
him,"  said  Fanny,  who  had  entered  unnoticed. 

"  Oh,  that's  only  strength  in  the  hands  !  "  said 
Brinsley,  in  a  depreciative  tone,  and  conscious 
of  his  own  splendid  proportions. 

8— Vol.  9 


168 


LOVE   IN   IDLENESS. 


"  Well,  then,  he's  strong  in  the  hands,  that's 
all,"  retorted  Fanny.  "  Please,  some  tea,  Eliza- 
beth dear--  I'm  half  dead." 

The  three  Miss  Miners  did  their  best  to  con- 
sole Brinsley  for  Fanny's  continued  ill-treatment 
of  him,  but  they  did  not  succeed  in  lifting  the 
cloud  from  his  brow.  At  last  he  confessed  that 
he  was  expecting  to  leave  Bar  Harbour  at  any 
moment. 


CHAPTER    XI. 

HERE  were  to  be  fireworks  that  even- 
ing at  the  Canoe  Club  on  the  farther 
side  of  Bar  Island  —  magnificent  fire- 
works, it  was  said,  which  it  would  be 
well  worth  while  to  see.  The  night  was  calm  and 
clear,  and  the  moon,  being  near  the  last  quarter, 
would  not  rise  until  everything  was  over. 

"We'll  go  in  skiffs,"  said  Fanny.  "When 
we're  tired  of  each  other,  we  can  change  about, 
you  know.  Mr.  Lawrence  can  take  one  of  us 
and  Mr.  Brinsley  another,  and  the  other  two 
must  take  one  of  the  men  from  the  landing. 
I  ordered  the  boats  this  morning  when  I  was 
out." 

The  three  Miss  Miners  looked  consciously  at 

169 


170  LOVE   IN   IDLENESS. 

• 

one  another,  mutely  wondering  how  they  were  to 
divide  Mr.  Brinsley  amongst  them,  and  wishing 
that  they  had  consulted  together  in  private  be- 
fore the  moment  for  decision  had  come.  But  no 
one  suggested  that,  as  there  were  only  four  ladies, 
each  of  the  men  could  very  easily  take  two  in  a 
boat. 

"  We  might  toss  up  to  see  who  shall  take 
whom,"  suggested  Brinsley,  who  had  been  un- 
usually silent  during  the  greater  part  of  dinner. 

"  In  how  many  ways  can  you  arrange  six  peo- 
ple in  couples  ?  "  asked  Fanny. 

Nobody  succeeded  in  solving  the  question,  of 
course.  Even  Elizabeth  Miner,  who  was  consid- 
ered the  clever  member,  gave  it  up  in  despair. 

"  Never  mind  !  "  said  Fanny.  "  We'll  see  how 
it  turns  out  when  we  get  down  to  the  landing- 
stage.  These  things  always  arrange  them- 
selves." 

To  the  surprise  of  every  one  except  Fanny  her- 
self, the  arrangement  turned  out  to  be  such  that 
she  and  Miss  Cordelia  went  together  in  the  skiff 
pulled  by  the  sailor,  while  Brinsley  and  Lawrence 
each  took  one  of  the  other  Miss  Miners. 


LOVE   IN   IDLENESS.  17 1 

"  We'll  change  by  and  by,"  said  Fanny,  as  her 
boat  shoved  off  first  to  show  the  way.  "  Keep 
close  to  us  in  the  crowd  when  we  get  over." 

The  distance  from  the  landing,  across  the  har- 
bour, through  the  channel  between  Bar  Island 
and  Sheep  Porcupine  to  the  Canoe  Club,  is  little 
over  half  a  mile ;  but  at  night,  amidst  a  crowd  of 
steamers,  large  and  small,  row-boats,  canoes,  and 
sail-boats,  —  the  latter  all  outside  the  channel, — 
it  took  twenty  minutes  to  reach  the  place  where 
the  fireworks  were  to  be. 

Fanny  leaned  back  beside  her  cousin,  and 
watched  the  lights  in  silence.  Yellow,  green,  and 
red,  they  streamed  across  the  brilliant  black  water 
in  every  direction,  the  yellow  rays  fixed  or  mov- 
ing but  slowly,  the  others  gliding  along  swiftly 
above  their  own  reflection,  as  the  paddle  steamers 
thrashed  their  way  through  the  still  sea.  To  left 
and  right  the  shadowy  islands  loomed  darkly 
against  the  black  sky,  outlined  by  the  stars.  The 
warm  damp  air  lifted  the  coolness  from  the  water 
in  little  puffs,  as  the  skiff  slipped  along.  Now 
and  then,  in  the  gloom,  a  boat  showed  dimly 
alongside,  and  the  laughing  voices  of  girls  and 


172  LOVE  IN  IDLENESS. 

boys  told  how  near  it  passed,  a  mere  floating 
dimness  upon  blackness.  The  stroke  of  light 
sculls  swished  and  tinkled  with  the  laughter. 
The  soft  mysterious  charm  of  the  summer  dark 
was  breathed  upon  land  and  water  —  the  distant 
lights  were  love-dreaming  eyes,  and  each  time,  as 
the  oars  dipped,  swept  and  rose,  the  gentle  sound 
was  like  a  stolen  kiss. 

Then,  suddenly,  with  a  wild  screaming  rush, 
a  rocket  shot  up  into  the  night,  splitting  the  sky 
with  a  scar  of  fire.  The  burning  point  of  it 
lingered  a  moment  overhead,  then  cracked  into 
little  stars  that  shed  a  soft  glow  through  the 
gloom,  and  fell  in  a  swift  shower  of  sparks. 
Then  all  was  hushed  again,  and  the  red  and 
green  lights  moved  quickly  over  the  water, 
hither  and  thither. 

Close  to  the  shore  of  the  island  the  skiff  ran 
round  the  point  into  the  shallow  water  along  the 
beach,  and  all  at  once  in  the  distance  the  fes- 
tooned lanterns  of  the  Canoe  Club  came  into 
view,  so  bright  that  one  could  distinguish  the 
branches  of  the  spruces  in  the  red  and  yellow 
glare,  and  the  moving  crowd  of  people  on  the 


LOVE  IN  IDLENESS.  173 

little  landing-stage  and  below,  before  the  club- 
house. And  some  two  hundred  yards  out,  the 
lights  began  again,  gleaming  from  hundreds  of 
boats  and  little  vessels  of  all  rigs  and  builds. 
Between  these  seaward  lights  and  those  on  land 
a  deep  black  void  stretched  away  up  French- 
man's Bay. 

Miss  Cordelia  started  nervously  at  the  rockets, 
but  said  nothing.  Fanny  sat  beside  her  in 
silence.  The  sailor,  only  visible  distinctly  when 
the  lights  were  behind  him,  pulled  softly  and 
steadily,  glancing  over  his  shoulder  every  now 
and  then  to  see  that  the  way  was  clear.  The 
other  skiffs  kept  near,  both  Brinsley  and  Law- 
rence being  keenly  on  the  lookout  for  a  change. 
Now  and  then  Fanny  could  hear  them  talking. 

"  I  wonder  why  one  voice  should  attract  one 
and  another  should  be  disagreeable,"  she  said  at 
last,  in  a  meditative  tone. 

"  I  was  thinking  of  the  same  thing,"  answered 
Cordelia,  thoughtfully. 

"Yes,"  said  Fanny,  absently.  "Of  course  you 
were,"  she  added,  a  moment  later.  "  I  mean — " 
She  paused.  "  Poor  dear ! "  she  exclaimed  at 


174  LOVE   IN   IDLENESS. 

last,  stroking  her  cousin's  elderly  hand  in  the 
dark.  "  I'm  so  sorry  !  " 

"  Thank  you,  dear,"  answered  Miss  Miner,  sim- 
ply and  gratefully. 

It  was  little  enough,  but  little  as  it  was  it  made 
them  both  more  silent  than  ever.  With  the  boat- 
man close  before  them,  it  was  impossible  to  talk 
of  what  was  in  their  thoughts.  Fanny,  for  her 
part,  was  glad  of  it.  She  had  understood  her 
old-maid  cousin  since  the  night  when  Cordelia 
had  broken  down  and  laughed  and  cried  in  the 
garden,  and  she  knew  how  little  there  could  be 
to  say.  But  Cordelia  did  not  understand  Fanny 
in  the  least.  It  was  a  marvel  to  her  that  any  one 
should  prefer  Lawrence  to  Brinsley  —  almost  as 
great  a  marvel  as  that  she  herself,  in  her  sober 
middle  age,  should  have  felt  what  she  knew  was 
love  and  believed  to  be  passion. 

And  now,  Brinsley  was  going,  and  it  was  over. 
He  would  never  come  back,  and  she  should  never 
see  him  again  —  she  was  sure  of  that,  she  was 
only  an  old  maid  ;  a  middle-aged  gentlewoman 
who  had  never  possessed  any  great  attraction  for 
anybody ;  who  had  always  been  more  or  less  poor 


LOVE   IN   IDLENESS.  175 

and  unhappy,  though  of  the  best  and  living 
amongst  the  best ;  whose  few  pleasures  had  come 
to  her  unexpectedly,  like  rare  gleams  of  pale  sun- 
shine on  a  very  long  rainy  day ;  who  had  looked 
for  little  and  had  got  next  to  nothing  out  of  life, 
save  the  crumbs  of  enjoyment  from  the  feast  of 
rich  relations,  like  the  Trehearnes  —  a  woman 
who  had  known  something  more  grievous  than 
sorrow  and  worse  than  violent  grief,  trudging 
through  life  in  the  leaden  cowl  of  many  limita- 
tions—  the  leaden  cowl  of  that  most  innocent  of 
all  hypocrites,  of  her,  or  of  him,  who  knows  the 
daily  burden  of  keeping  up  appearances  on  next 
to  nothing,  and  of  doctoring  poor  little  illusions 
through  a  feeble  existence,  worth  having  because 
they  represent  all  that  there  is  to  have. 

She  had  been  wounded  by  one  of  those  arrows 
shot  in  the  dark  which  hit  hearts  unawares  and 
unaimed ;  and  now  that  the  shaft  was  suddenly 
drawn  out,  the  heart's  blood  followed  it  and  the 
nerves  quivered  where  it  had  been.  It  was  only 
one  of  the  little  tragedies  which  no  one  sees,  few 
guess  at,  and  nothing  can  hinder.  But  Fanny 
Trehearne  felt  that  it  was  beside  her,  there  in  the 


176  LOVE   IN   IDLENESS. 

little  boat,  while  she  watched  the  pretty  fireworks, 
and  she  was  sorry  and  did  what  she  could  to  soothe 
the  pain. 

"  Let's  change,  now,"  she  said  at  last,  just  as 
the  glow  of  a  multitude  of  coloured  fires  died 
away  on  the  water.  "  You  take  Mr.  Brinsley,  and 
I'll  take  Mr.  Lawrence." 

As  she  spoke,  she  gave  her  cousin's  hand  a  lit- 
tle squeeze  of  sympathy,  and  heard  the  small  sigh 
of  satisfaction  that  answered  the  proposal.  The  re- 
arrangement was  effected  in  a  few  moments,  the 
men  holding  the  boats  together  by  the  gunwales 
while  the  ladies  stepped  from  one  into  the  other. 

"  Pull  away,"  said  Fanny,  authoritatively,  as 
soon  as  Lawrence  had  shoved  off.  "  Let's  get 
out  of  this !  I'll  steer,  so  you  needn't  bother 
about  running  into  things." 

Fairly  seated  in  a  boat,  with  the  sculls  shipped, 
and  some  one  at  the  tiller  lines,  Lawrence  could 
get  along  tolerably  well,  for  he  knew  just  enough 
not  to  catch  a  crab  in  smooth  water,  so  long  as 
he  was  not  obliged  to  turn  his  head.  But  if  he 
had  to  look  over  his  shoulder,  something  was 
certain  to  happen,  which  was  natural,  consider- 


LOVE  IN  IDLENESS.  177 

ing  that  when  he  attempted  to  feather  at  all,  he 
did  it  the  wrong  way. 

"  You're  stronger  than  anybody  would  think," 
observed  Fanny,  as  she  saw  how  quickly  the  skiff 
moved.  "  You  might  do  things  quite  decently, 
if  you'd  only  take  the  trouble  to  learn." 

"  Oh  no !  I'm  a  born  duffer,"  laughed  Law- 
rence. "  Besides,  I  couldn't  row  long  like  this. 
I  couldn't  keep  it  up." 

They  were  just  in  front  of  the  club-house  now  ; 
and  a  score  of  rockets  went  up  together,  with  a 
rushing  and  a  crackling  and  a  gleaming,  as  they 
soared  and  burst,  and  at  last  fell  sputtering  in 
the  water  all  around  the  skiff.  Lawrence  had 
rested  on  his  sculls  to  watch  the  sight. 

"Pull  away!"  said  Fanny.  "We'll  get  under 
the  foot-bridge  by  the  landing.  There's  water 
enough  there,  and  we  can  see  everything." 

Lawrence  obeyed,  and  pulled  as  hard  as  he 
could. 

"  So  your  friend  Mr.  Brinsley  is  going  away," 
observed  the  young  girl,  suddenly. 

"  My  friend  !  I  like  that !  As  though  I  had 
brought  him  in  my  pocket." 


178  LOVE  IN   IDLENESS. 

"I'm  very  glad  that  he's  going,  at  all  events," 
said  Fanny,  without  heeding  his  remark.  "  I'm 
not  fond  of  him  any  more." 

"I  hope  you  never  were  —  fond  of  him." 

"  Oh  yes,  I  was  —  but  I'm  thankful  to  say  that 
it's  over.  Of  all  the  ineffable-  cads!  I  could 
have  killed  him  to-day !  " 

"  By  the  bye,"  said  Lawrence,  "  when  he  was 
mounting  you  —  didn't  you  do  that  on  pur- 
pose ? " 

"  Of  course.  And  then  I  called  him  awkward. 
It  was  so  nice !  It  did  me  good." 

"  Pure  spite,  I  suppose.  You  couldn't  have  had 
any  particular  reason  for  doing  it,  could  you  ?  " 

"  Oh  dear,  no !  What  reason  could  I  have  ? 
It  wasn't  his  fault  that  the  mare  ran  away, 
though  I  told  him  it  was." 

"  That's  interesting,"  observed  Lawrence.  "  Do 
you  often  do  things  out  of  pure  spite  ? " 

"  Constantly  —  without  any  reason  at  all ! " 
Fanny  laughed. 

"  Perhaps  you'll  marry  out  of  spite,  some  day," 
said  Lawrence,  calmly.  "  Women  often  do,  they 
say,  though  I  never  could  understand  why." 


LOVE   IN   IDLENESS.  179 

"  I  daresay  I  shall.  I'm  quite  capable  of  it. 
And  shouldn't  I  be  just  horrid  afterwards ! " 

"  I  like  you  when  you're  horrid,  as  you  call  it. 
I  didn't  at  first.  You've  given  my  sense  of 
humour  a  chance  to  grow  since  I've  been  here. 
I  say,  Miss  Trehearne  —  "  He  stopped. 

"  What  do  you  say  ?  It  isn't  particularly 
polite  to  begin  in  that  way,  is  it?  I  suppose 
it's  English." 

"  Oh,  bother  the  English  !  And  I  apologize  for 
being  slangy.  It's  so  dark  that  I  can't  see  you 
frown.  I  meant  to  say,  if  you  ever  marry  out 
of  spite,  and  want  to  be  particularly  horrid  after- 
wards, it  wouldn't  be  a  bad  idea  to  marry  me,  for 
I  don't  mind  that  sort  of  .thing  a  bit,  you  know." 

"  That's  a  singular  offer !  "  laughed  Fanny, 
leaning  far  back,  and  playing  with  the  tiller  lines 
in  the  glow  of  the  Bengal  lights. 

"  It's  genuine  of  its  kind,"  answered  the  young 
man.  "  Of  course  it  isn't  a  sure  thing,  exactly," 
he  added  reflectively,  "  because  it  depends  on 
your  happening  to  be  in  the  spiteful  humour. 
But,  as  you  say  that  often  happens  — " 

"  Well,  go  on  !  " 


180  LOVE  IN  IDLENESS. 

"  I  thought  you  might  feel  spiteful  enough  to 
accept  this  evening,"  concluded  Lawrence. 

"  Take  care — I  might,  you  know  —  you're  in 
danger !  "  She  was  still  laughing. 

"  Don't  mind  me,  you  know !  I  could  stand 
it,  I  believe." 

"You're  awfully  amusing  —  sometimes,  Mr. 
Lawrence." 

"  Meaning  now  ? "  enquired  the  artist,  resting 
on  his  sculls,  for  they  were  under  the  shadow  of 
the  bridge. 

"  I  can't  see  your  face  distinctly,"  answered 
Fanny.  "  So  much  depends  on  the  expression. 
But  I  think  —  " 

"  What  do  you  think  ?-  That  it's  awfully  amus- 
ing of  me  to  offer  to  be  married  as  a  sacrifice  to 
your  spite  ? " 

"  It's  amusing  anyway." 

"  A  formal  proposal  would  be,  you  mean  ? " 
asked  Lawrence.  Then  he  laughed  oddly. 

"  I  hate  formality,"  answered  Fanny.  "  That 
is,  in  earnest,  you  know.  It's  so  disgusting 
when  a  man  comes  with  his  gloves  buttoned  and 
sits  on  the  edge  of  a  chair  and  says  —  " 


LOVE   IN   IDLENESS. 


"  And  say  what  ?  " 

"Oh  —  you    know    the    sort   of    thing, 
must  have  done  it  scores  of  times." 


181 


You 


"  What  ?  Proposed  and  been  refused  ?  You're 
complimentary,  at  all  events.  I've  a  great  mind 
to  let  you  be  the  first,  just  —  well — how  shall 


182  LOVE   IN    IDLENESS. 

I  say  ?  Just  to  associate  you  with  a  novel  sen- 
sation." 

"  I  might  disappoint  you,"  said  Fanny,  de- 
murely. "  I  told  you  so  before.  Just  think,  if 
I  were  to  say  '  yes,'  you'd  be  most  dreadfully 
caught.  You'd  have  to  eat  humble  pie  and  beg 
off,  and  say  that  you  hadn't  meant  it." 

"  Oh  no !  "  laughed  the  young  man.  "  You'd 
break  it  off  in  a  week,  and  then  it  would  be 
all  right." 

"  Are  you  going  to  be  rude  ?  Or  are  you, 
already  ?  I'm  not  quite  sure." 

"  Neither.  Of  course  you'd  break  it  off,  if 
we  had  an  agreement  to  that  effect." 

"  You  don't  make  any  allowance  for  my  spite- 
fulness.  It  would  be  just  like  me  to  hold  you 
to  your  engagement.  Of  course  you  wouldn't 
live  long.  We  should  be  sure  to  fight." 

"Oh  —  sure,"  assented  Lawrence.  "That  is, 
if  you  call  this  fighting." 

"  It  would  be  worse  than  this.  But  why  don't 
you  try  ?  I'm  dying  to  refuse  you.  I'm  just  in 
the  humour." 

"  Why  !  I  thought  you  said  there  was  danger ! 


LOVE  IN  IDLENESS.  183 

If  I'd  known  there  wasn't  —  by  the  bye,  this 
counts  in  the  game,  doesn't  it?" 

"  There  isn't  anything  to  count,  yet,"  said 
Fanny.  "  Look  at  those  fiery  fish  —  aren't  they 
pretty  ?  See  how  they  squirm  about,  and  fizzle, 
and  behave  like  mad  things !  Oh,  I  never  saw 
anything  so  pretty  as  that !  " 

"  Yes.  If  one  must  have  an  interruption,  they 
do  as  well  as  anything." 

"  You  weren't  talking  very  coherently,  I  be- 
lieve," said  the  young  girl,  turning  her  head 
to  watch  the  fireworks.  "  And  you've  made 
me  miss  lots  of  pretty  things,  I'm  sure.  Oh 
-  they've  gone  out  already !  How  dark  it 
seems,  all  at  once !  What  were  you  asking  ? 
Whether  this  counted  in  the  game  ?  Of  course 
it  counts.  Everything  does.  But  I  don't  ex- 
actly see  how  —  " 

She  stopped  and  looked  towards  him  in  the 
dim  gloom  of  the  shadow  under  the  bridge. 
But  Lawrence  did  not  speak.  He  looked  over 
the  side  of  the  boat,  softly  slapping  the  black 
water  with  the  blade  of  his  scull. 

"  Why  don't  you  go  on  ?  "  asked  Fanny,    tap- 


184  LOVE   IN   IDLENESS. 

ping  the  boards  under  her  foot  to  attract  his 
attention. 

"  I  was  thinking  over  the  proper  words," 
answered  Lawrence.  "  How  does  one  make  a 
formal  proposal  of  marriage  ?  I  never  did  such 
a  thing  in  my  life." 

"  An  informal  one  would  do  for  fun." 

"  I  never  did^  that,  either." 

"  Never  ?  " 

"  Never." 

"  Really  ?  Swear  it,  as  they  say  on  the  stage." 
Fanny  laughed  softly. 

"  Oh,  by  Jove,  yes ! "  answered  Lawrence, 
promptly.  "  I'll  swear  to  that  by  anything  you 
please." 

"  Well  —  you'll  have  to  do  it  some  day,  so 
you'd  better  practise  at  once,"  suggested  Fanny. 

Lawrence  did  not  notice  that  there  was  a 
sort  of  little  relief  in  her  tone. 

"  I  suppose  one  says,  '  My  angel,  will  you 
be  mine  ? ' "  he  said.  "  That  sounds  like  some 
book  or  other." 

"  It  might  do,"  answered  Fanny,  meditatively. 
"You  ought  to  throw  a  little  more  expression 


LOVE  IN  IDLENESS.  185 

into  the  tone.  Besides,  I'm  not  an  angel,  what- 
ever the  girl  in  the  book  may  have  been.  On 
the  whole  —  no  —  it's  a  little  too  effusive.  Angel 
-  you  know.  It's  such  nonsense !  Try  some- 
thing else;  but  put  lots  of  expression  into  it." 

"  Does  one  get  down  on  one's  knees  ? "  enquired 
Lawrence. 

"  Oh  no ;  I  don't  believe  it's  necessary.  Be- 
sides, you'd  upset  the  boat." 

"  All  right  —  here  goes!  My  dear  Miss  Tre- 
hearne,  will  you  —  " 

"  Yes.  That's  it.  Go  on.  The  quaver  in 
the  voice  is  rather  well  done.  *  Will  you  — ' 
What  ? " 

"  Will  you  marry  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Lawrence,  I   will." 

There  was  a  short  pause,  during  which  a  num- 
ber of  fiery  fish  were  sent  off  again,  and  squirmed 
and  wriggled  and  fizzled  their  burning  little  lives 
away  in  the  water.  But  neither  of  the  young 
people  looked  at  them. 

"  You  rather  took  my  breath  away,"  said  Law- 
rence, with  a  change  of  tone.  "  Did  I  do  it  all 
right?" 


186 


LOVE   IN   IDLENESS. 


"Oh  —  quite  right,"  answered  Fanny,  thought- 
fully. 

Immediately  after  the  words  Lawrence  heard 
a  little  sigh.  Then  Fanny  heard  one,  too. 

"  You  didn't  happen  to  be  in  earnest,  did 
you  ? "  she  asked  suddenly,  in  a  low,  soft  voice. 

"  Well  —  I  didn't  mean —  that  I  meant  —  you 
know  we  agreed  to  play  a  game  —  " 

"  I  know  we  did  —  but  —  were  you  in  earnest  ?  " 

"Yes  —  but,  of  course-  Oh,  this  isn't  fair, 
Miss  Trehearne ! " 

"  Yes,  it  is.     I  said  '  yes,'  didn't  I  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  but  - 

"  There's  no  '  but.'  I  happened  to  be  in 
earnest,  too  —  that's  all.  I've  lost  the  game." 


MARION  DARCHE 


MARION  DARCHE. 


CHAPTER  I. 

I 

AMONG  the  many  peculiarities  which  contribute 
to  make  New  York  unlike  other  cities  is  the  con- 
struction of  what  may  be  called  its  social  map.  As 
in  the  puzzles  used  in  teaching  children  geography, 
all  the  pieces  are  of  different  shapes,  different  sizes 
and  different  colours ;  but  they  fit  neatly  together  in 
the  compact  whole  though  the  lines  which  define 
each  bit  are  distinctly  visible,  especially  when  the 
map  has  been  long  used  by  the  industrious  child. 
What  calls  itself  society  everywhere  else  calls  itself 
society  in  New  York  also,  but  whereas  in  European 
cities  one  instinctively  speaks  of  the  social  scale, 
one  familiar  with  New  York  people  will  be  much 
more  inclined  to  speak  of  the  social  map.  I  do 
not  mean  to  hint  that  society  here  exists  on  a 
dead  level,  but  the  absence  of  tradition,  of  all 
acknowledged  precedents  and  of  all  outward  and 
perceptible  distinctions  makes  it  quite  impossible 

9— Vol.  9 


2  MARION  DARCHE. 

to  define  the  position  of  any  one  set  in  regard 
to  another  by  the  ordinary  scale  of  superiority 
or  inferiority.  In  London  or  Paris,  for  instance, 
ambitious  persons  are  spoken  of  as  climbing,  in 
New  York  it  would  be  more  correct  to  speak  of 
them  as  migrating  or  attempting  to  migrate  from 
one  social  field  to  the  next.  It  is  impossible  to 
imagine  fields  real  or  metaphorical  yielding  more 
different  growths  under  the  same  sky. 

The  people  in  all  these  different  sets  are  very 
far  from  being  unconscious  of  one  another's  exis- 
tence. Sometimes  they  would  like  to  change  from 
one  set  to  another  and  cannot,  sometimes  other 
people  wish  them  to  change  and  they  will  not, 
sometimes  they  exchange  places,  and  sometimes  by 
a  considerable  effort,  or  at  considerable  expense, 
they  change  themselves.  The  man  whose  occupa- 
tions, or  tastes,  or  necessities,  lead  him  far  be- 
yond the  bounds  of  the  one  particular  field  to 
which  he  belongs,  may  see  a  vast  deal  that  is 
interesting  and  of  which  his  own  particular  friends 
and  companions  know  nothing  whatever.  There 
are  a  certain  number  of  such  men  in  every  great 
city,  and  there  are  a  certain  number  of  women 


MARION   DAECHB.  8 

also,  who,  by  accident  or  choice,  know  a  little 
more  of  humanity  in  general  than  their  associates. 
They  recognise  each  other  wherever  they  meet. 
They  speak  the  same  language.  Without  secret 
signs  or  outward  badges  they  understand  instinc- 
tively that  they  belong  to  the  small  and  exceptional 
class  of  human  beings.  If  they  meet  for  the  first 
time,  no  matter  where,  the  conversation  of  each 
is  interesting  to  the  other;  they  go  their  opposite 
ways  never  to  meet  again,  perhaps,  but  feeling 
that  for  a  few  minutes,  or  a  few  hours,  they  have 
lived  in  an  atmosphere  far  more  familiar  to  them 
than  that  of  their  common  everyday  life.  They 
are  generally  the  people  who  can  accomplish 
things,  not  hard  to  do  in  themselves  but  quite 
out  of  the  reach  of  those  whose  life  runs  in  a 
single  groove.  They  very  often  have  odd  expe- 
riences to  relate  and  sometimes  are  not  averse 
to  relating  them.  They  are  a  little  mysterious  in 
their  ways  and  they  do  not  care  to  be  asked 
whither  they  are  going  nor  whence  they  come. 
They  are  not  easily  surprised  by  anything,  but 
they  sometimes  do  not  remember  to  which  par- 
ticular social  set  an  idea,  a  story,  or  a  prejudice 


4  MARION   DARCHE. 

belongs,  especially  if  they  are  somewhat  preoccu- 
pied at  the  time.  This  occasionally  makes  their 
conversation  a  little  startling,  if  not  incomprehen- 
sible, but  they  are  generally  considered  to  be  agree- 
able people  and  if  they  have  good  manners  and 
dress  like  human  beings  they  are  much  sought 
after  in  society  for  the  simple  reason  that  they 
are  very  hard  to  find. 

In  New  York  walking  is  essentially  the  luxury 
of  the  rich.  The  hard-working  poor  man  has  no 
time  to  lose  in  such  old-fashioned  sport  and  he 
gets  from  place  to  place  by  means  of  horse  cars 
and  elevated  roads,  by  cabs  or  in  his  own  car- 
riage, according  to  the  scale  of  his  poverty.  The 
man  who  has  nothing  to  do  keeps  half-a-dozen 
horses  and  enjoys  the  privilege  of  walking,  which 
he  shares  with  women  and  four-footed  animals. 

The  foregoing  assertions  all  bear  more  or  less 
directly  upon  the  lives  of  the  people  concerned  in 
the  following  story.  They  all  lived  in  New  York, 
they  all  belonged  to  the  same  little  oddly-shaped 
piece  in  the  social  puzzle  map,  some  of  them 
were  rich  enough  to  walk,  and  one  of  them  at 
least  was  tolerably  well  acquainted  with  a  great 


MAKION   DABCHE.  5 

many  people  in  a  great  many  other  sets.  On  a  cer- 
tain winter's  morning  this  latter  individual  was 
walking  slowly  down  Lexington  Avenue  in  the 
direction  of  Gramercy  Park.  He  was  walking,  not 
,because  he  was  enormously  rich,  not  because  he 
had  nothing  to  do,  and  not  because  he  was  ill.  He 
was  suffering  momentarily  from  an  acute  attack  of 
idleness,  very  rare  in  him,  but  intensely  delightful 
while  it  lasted. 

In  all  probability  Russell  Vanbrugh  had  been 
doing  more  work  than  was  good  for  him,  but  as  he 
was  a  man  of  extremely  well-balanced  and  healthy 
nervous  organisation  the  one  ill  effect  he  experienced 
from  having  worked  harder  than  usual  was  a  sudden 
and  irresistible  determination  to  do  absolutely  noth- 
ing for  twenty-four  hours.  He  was  a  lawyer  by  pro- 
fession, a  Dutchman  by  descent,  a  New  Yorker  by 
birth,  a  gentleman  by  his  character  and  education, 
if  the  latter  expression  means  anything,  which  is 
doubtful,  and  so  far  as  his  circumstances  were 
concerned  he  was  neither  rich  nor  poor  as  compared 
with  most  of  his  associates,  though  some  of  his 
acquaintances  looked  up  to  him  as  little  short  of  a 
millionaire,  while  others  could  not  have  conceived 


6  MARION   DAECHE. 

it  possible  to  exist  at  all  with  his  income.  In 
appearance  he  was  of  middle  height,  strongly  built 
but  not  stout,  and  light  on  his  feet.  On  the  whole 
he  would  have  been  called  a  dark  man,  for  his  eyes 
were  brown  and  his  complexion  was  certainly  not 
fair.  His  features  were  regular  and  straight  but 
not  large,  of  a  type  which  is  developing  rapidly  in 
America  and  which  expresses  clearly  enough  the 
principal  national  characteristics  —  energy,  firmness, 
self-esteem,  absence  of  tradition,  and,  to  some  extent, 
of  individuality  —  in  so  far  as  the  faculties  are  so 
evenly  balanced  as  to  adapt  themselves  readily  to 
anything  required  of  them.  Russell  Vanbrugh  was 
decidedly  good-looking  and  many  people  would  have 
called  him  handsome.  He  was  thirty-five  years  of 
age,  and  his  black  hair  was  turning  a  little  gray  at 
the  temples,  a  fact  which  was  especially  apparent 
as  he  faced  the  sun  in  his  walk.  He  was  in  no 
hurry  as  he  strolled  leisurely  down  the  pavement, 
his  hands  in  the  pockets  of  his  fur  coat,  glancing 
idly  at  the  quiet  houses  as  he  passed.  The  usual 
number  of  small  boys  were  skating  about  on  rollers 
at  the  corners  of  the  streets,  an  occasional  trio  of 
nurse,  perambulator  and  baby  came  into  view  for  a 


MARION   DARCHE.  7 

moment  across  the  sunlit  square  ahead  of  him,  and 
a  single  express-waggon  was  halting  before  a  house 
on  the  other  side  of  the  street,  with  one  of  its  wheels 
buried  to  the  hub  in  a  heap  of  mud-dyed  snow. 
That  was  all.  Few  streets  in  the  world  can  be  as 
quiet  as  Lexington  Avenue  at  mid-day.  It  looks 
almost  like  Boston.  Russell  Vanbrugh  loved  New 
York  in  all  its  aspects  and  in  all  its  particulars, 
singly  and  wholly,  in  winter  and  summer,  with  the 
undivided  affection  which  natives  of  great  capitals 
often  feel  for  their  own  city.  He  liked  to  walk 
in  Lexington  Avenue,  and  to  think  of  the  roaring, 
screaming  rush  in  Broadway.  He  liked  to  escape 
from  sudden  death  on  the  Broadway  crossing  and 
to  think  of  the  perambulator  and  the  boys  on 
roller  skates  in  Lexington  Avenue ;  and  again, 
he  was  fond  of  allowing  his  thoughts  to  wander 
down  town  to  the  strange  regions  which  are 
bounded  by  the  Bowery,  Houston  Street,  the  East 
River  and  Park  Row.  It  amused  him  to  watch 
his  intensely  American  surroundings  and  to  remem- 
ber at  the  same  time  that  New  York  is  the  third 
German  city  in  the  world.  He  loved  contrasts 
and  it  was  this  taste,  together  with  his  daily  occu- 


8  MARION   DARCHB. 

pation  as  a  criminal  lawyer,  which  had  led  him 
to  extend  his  acquaintance  beyond  the  circle  in 
which  his  father  and  mother  had  dined  and 
danced  and  had  their  being. 

He  was  thinking  —  for  people  can  think  while 
receiving  and  enjoying  momentary  impressions 
which  have  nothing  to  do  with  their  thoughts  — 
he  was  thinking  of  a  particularly  complicated 
murder  case  in  which  the  murderer  had  made 
use  of  atropine  to  restore  the  pupils  of  his  vie' 
tim's  eyes  to  their  natural  size  lest  their  contraction 
should  betray  the  use  of  morphia.  He  was  watch- 
ing the  boys,  the  house,  the  express-cart,  and  the 
distant  perambulator,  and  at  the  same  time  he 
was  hesitating  as  to  whether  he  should  light  a 
cigarette  or  not.  He  was  certainly  suffering 
from  the  national  disease,  which  is  said  by 
medical  authorities  to  consist  in  thinking  of 
three  things  at  once.  He  was  just  wondering 
whether,  if  the  expressman  murdered  the  nurse 
and  used  atropine  the  boy  would  find  it  out, 
when  the  door  of  a  house  he  was  passing  was 
opened  and  a  young  girl  came  out  upon  the 
brown  stone  steps  and  closed  it  behind  her.  Her 


MARION   DARCHE.  9 

gray  eyes  met  his  brown  ones  and  they  both 
started  slightly  and  smiled.  The  girl's  bright 
colour  grew  a  little  more  bright,  and  Vanbrugh's 
eyelids  contracted  a  little  as  he  stopped  and 
bowed. 

"  Oh  —  is  that  you  ?  "  asked  Miss  Dolly  May- 
lands,  pausing  an  instant. 

"Good  morning,"  answered  Vanbrugh,  smiling 
again  as  she  tripped  over  the  brown  steps  and 
met  him  on  the  pavement. 

"I  suppose  your  logical  mind  saw  the  absurd- 
ity of  answering  my  question,"  said  Dolly,  holding 
out  a  slender  gloved  hand. 

"I  see  you  have  been  at  your  charities  again," 
answered  Vanbrugh,  watching  her  fresh  face 
closely. 

"  You  say  that  as  you  would  say,  *  You  have 
been  at  your  tricks  again.'  Why  do  you  tease 
me  ?  But  it  is  quite  true.  How  did  you  guess 
it?" 

"  Because  you  began  by  chaffing  me.  That 
shows  that  you  are  frivolous  to-day.  When  you 
have  been  doing  something  serious  you  are  always 
frivolous.  When  you  have  been  dancing  you  are 


10  MARION  DARCHB. 

always  funereal.  It  is  very  easy  to  tell  what 
you  have  been  doing." 

"  You  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself." 

Miss  Maylands  frequently  made  use  of  this 
expression  —  a  strong  one  in  its  way. 

"I  know  I  ought,"  answered  Vanbrugh  with 
humility. 

"But  you  are  not.  You  are  a  hypocrite,  like 
all  the  rest  of  them."  Dolly's  face  was  grave, 
but  she  glanced  at  her  companion  as  she  spoke. 

"Of  course  I  am  a  hypocrite.  Life  is  too 
short.  A  man  cannot  waste  his  time  in  hacking 
his  way  through  the  ice  mountain  of  truth  when 
he  may  trot  round  to  the  other  side  by  the  path 
of  tact." 

"I  hate  metaphors." 

"So  do  I." 

"Why  do  you  use  them,  then?" 

"It  is  righteous  to  do  the  things  one  does  not 
like  to  do,  is  it  not?" 

"Not  if  they  are  bad." 

"Oh!  then  I  am  good,  am  I?" 

"Perhaps.     I  never  make  rash  assertions." 

"No?     You    called   me    a    hypocrite    just    now, 


MARION   DARCHE.  11 

and  said  I  was  like  the  rest  of  them.  Was  not 
that  a  rash  assertion?" 

"Oh  dear!  You  are  too  logical!  I  give  it 
up." 

"I  am  so  glad." 

For  a  few  moments  they  walked  along  in 
silence,  side  by  side,  in  the  sunshine.  They 
were  a  couple  pleasant  to  look  at,  yet  not  very 
remarkable  in  any  way.  Dolly  Maylands  was  tall 
—  almost  as  tall  as  Vanbrugh,  but  much  fairer. 
She  had  about  her  the  singular  freshness  which 
clings  to  some  people  through  life.  It  is  hard  to 
say  wherein  the  quality  lies,  but  it  is  generally 
connected  with  the  idea  of  great  natural  vitality. 
There  are  two  kinds  of  youth.  There  is  the 
youth  of  young  years,  which  fades  and  disappears 
altogether,  and  there  is  the  youth  of  nature 
which  is  abiding,  or  which,  at  most,  shrivels  and 
dies  as  rose  leaves  wither,  touched  with  faint 
colour,  still  and  fragrant  to  the  last.  Dolly's 
freshness  was  in  her  large  gray  eyes,  her  bright 
chestnut  hair,  her  smooth,  clear  skin,  her  perfect 
teeth,  her  graceful  figure,  her  easy  motion.  But 
it  was  deeper  than  all  these,  and  one  looking  at 


12  MARION   DARCHB. 

her  felt  that  it  would  outlast  them  all,  and  that 
they  would  all  try  hard  to  outlast  one  another. 
For  the  rest,  the  broad  brow  showed  thought,  if 
not  intellect,  and  the  mouth,  rather  large  for  the 
proportion  of  the  lower  face,  but  not  at  all  heavy, 
told  of  strength  and  courage,  if  not  of  real  firm- 
ness. Dolly  Maylands  was  large,  well  grown, 
thin,  fresh  and  thoughtful,  with  a  dash  of  the 
devil,  but  of  a  perfectly  innocent  devil,  only  a 
little  inclined  to.  laugh  at  his  own  good  works 
and  to  prefer  play  to  prayers,  as  even  angels  may 
when  they  are  very  young  and  healthy,  and  have 
never  done  anything  to  be  sorry  for. 

"You  seem  to  be  walking  with  me,"  observed 
Dolly  presently. 

"Well  —  yes  —  I  suppose  that  is  the  impression 
we  are  giving  the  expressman  over  there." 

"  And  in  court,  in  one  of  your  cases,  if  he  were 
a  witness,  he  would  probably  give  the  idea  that  we 
met  in  Lexington  Avenue  by  appointment.  By 
the  bye,  one  does  not  walk  in  Lexington  Avenue 
in  the  morning." 

"That  is  what  we  are  doing,"  answered  Van- 
brugh  imperturbably. 


MAKION  DAKCHB.  13 

"  You  know  that  it  is  compromising,  I  suppose." 

"So  do  you." 

"Then  why  do  you  do  it?" 

"  Why  do  we  do  it  ?  Is  that  what  you  meant  to 
ask?" 

"I  did  not  mean  anything." 

"  So  I  supposed,  from  what  you  said."  Vanbrugh 
smiled  and  Dolly  laughed  as  their  eyes  met. 

"  I  was  here  first,"  said  Vanbrugh  after  a  moment. 

"Not  at  all.  I  have  been  at  least  an  hour  at 
old  Mrs.  Trehearne's." 

"I  may  have  seen  you  go  in,  and  I  may  have 
waited  all  that  time  to  catch  you  on  the  door- 
step." 

"  So  like  you !  Why  are  you  not  defending  the 
chemist  who  cremated  his  fifth  wife  alive  in  a  re- 
tort, or  the  cashier  who  hypnotised  the  head  of  his 
firm  and  made  him  sign  cheques  with  his  eyes  shut, 
or  the  typhus-germ  murderer,  or  something  nice 
and  interesting  of  that  sort  ?  Are  you  growing 
lazy  in  your  old  age,  Mr.  Vanbrugh?" 

"Awfully!" 

"How  well  you  talk.  When  I  have  made  a 
beautiful  long  speech  and  have  beaten  my  memory 


14  MARION  DABCHB. 

black  and  blue  for  words  I  cannot  remember,  just 
to  be  agreeable  —  you  say  '  awfully,'  and  think 
you  are  making  conversation." 

"  I  am  not  good  at  conversation." 

"  Apparently  not.  However,  you  will  not  have 
much  chance  of  showing  off  your  weakness  this 
morning." 

"Why  not?" 

"  You  might  say  you  are  sorry !  Why  not  ? 
Because  I  am  not  going  far." 

"How  far?" 

"  That  is  a  rude  question.  It  is  like  asking  me 
where  I  am  going.  But  I  will  be  nice  and  tell 
you  —  just  to  make  you  feel  your  inferiority.  I 
am  going  to  see  Marion  Darche." 

"Mrs.  Darche  lunches  about  this  time." 

"Exactly.  It  is  within  the  bounds  of  possibility 
that  I  may  be  going  to  lunch  with  her." 

"Oh,  quite!" 

Again  there  was  a  short  pause  as  the  two 
walked  on  together.  Dolly  took  rather  short, 
quick  steps.  Vanbrugh  did  not  change  his  gait. 
There  are  men  who  naturally  fall  into  the  step  of 
persons  with  whom  they  are  walking.  It  shows 


MAEION   DARCHB.  15 

an  imitative  disposition  and  one  which  readily 
accepts  the  habits  of  others.  Neither  Dolly  nor 
her  companion  were  people  of  that  sort. 

"  I  was  thinking  of  Mrs.  Darche,"  said  Dolly  at 
last. 

"So  was  I.     Extremes  meet." 

"They  have  met  in  that  case,  at  all  events," 
answered  Dolly,  growing  serious.  "It  would  not 
be  easy  to  imagine  a  more  perfectly  ill-matched 
couple  than  Marion  and  her  husband." 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?  "  asked  Vanbrugh,  who  was 
never  inclined  to  commit  himself. 

"  Think  so  ?  I  know  it !  And  you  ought  to 
know  it,  too.  You  are  always  there.  Nobody  is 
more  intimate  there  than  you  are." 

"  Yes,  —  I  often  see  them." 

"  Yes,"  said  Dolly  looking  keenly  at  him,  "  and  I 
believe  you  know  much  more  about  them  than 
you  admit.  You  might  as  well  tell  me." 

"I  have  nothing  especial  to  tell,"  answered 
Vanbrugh  quietly. 

"  There  is  something  wrong.  Well  —  if  you  will 
not  tell  me,  Harry  Brett  will,  some  day.  He  is 
not  half  so  secretive  as  you  are." 


16  MARION   DARCHB. 

"  That  does  not  mean  anything.  The  word 
secretive  is  not  to  be  found  in  any  respectable 
dictionary,  nor  in  any  disreputable  one  either,  so 
far  as  I  know." 

"  How  horrid  you  are !  But  it  is  quite  true. 
Harry  Brett  is  not  in  the  least  like  you.  He  says 
just  what  he  thinks." 

"  Does  he  ?  Lucky  man !  That  is  just  what  I 
am  always  trying  to  do.  And  he  tells  you  all 
about  the  Darches,  does  he?" 

"  Oh  no !  He  has  never  told  me  anything. 
But  then,  he  would." 

"That  is  just  the  same,  you  know." 

"What  makes  you  think  there  is  anything 
wrong  ? "  asked  Vanbrugh,  changing  his  tone  and 
growing  serious  in  his  turn. 

"  So  many  things  —  it  is  dreadful !  What 
o'clock  is  it?" 

"Ten  minutes  to  one." 

"Have  you  time  for  another  turn  before  I  go 
in?" 

"Of  course  —  all  the  time.  We  can  walk  round 
Gramercy  Park  and  down  Irving  Place." 

Instinctively    both   were    silent    as    they    passed 


MAEION   DARCHB.  17 

the  door  of  Marion  Darche's  house  and  did  not 
resume  their  conversation  till  they  were  twenty 
paces  further  down  the  street.  Then  Vanbrugh 
was  the  first  to  speak. 

"If  it  is  possible  for  you  and  me  to  talk 
seriously  about  anything,  Miss  Maylands,  I  should 
like  to  speak  to  you  about  the  Darches." 

"I  will  make  a  supreme  effort  and  try  to  be 
serious.  As  for  you — " 

Dolly  glanced  at  Vanbrugh,  smiled  and  shook 
her  head,  as  though  to  signify  that  his  case  was 
perfectly  hopeless. 

"  I  shall  do  well  enough,"  he  answered,  "  I  am 
used  to  gravity.  It  does  not  upset  my  nerves 
as  it  does  yours." 

"You  shall  not  say  that  gravity  upsets  my 
nerves ! " 

"Shall  not?    Why  not?"   inquired  Vanbrugh. 

Dolly  walked  more  slowly,  putting  down  her 
feet  with  a  little  emphasis,  so  to  say. 

"Because  I  say  you  shall  not.  That  ought  to 
be  enough." 

"  Considering  that  you  can  stand  idiot  asylums, 
kindergartens,  school  children,  the  rector  and  the 


18  MARION    D  ARC  HE. 

hope  of  the  life  to  come,  and  are  still  alive 
enough  to  dance  every  night,  your  nerves  ought 
to  be  good.  But  I  did  not  mean  to  be  offensive 
—  only  a  little  wholesome  glass  of  truth  as  an 
appetiser  before  Mrs.  Darche's  luncheon." 

"  Puns  make  me  positively  ill  at  this  hour ! " 
"  I  will  never  do  it  again  —  never,  never." 
"You  are  not  making  much  progress   in   talking 
seriously  about  the  Darches.     I   believe  it  was  for 
that  purpose  that  you  proposed  to  drag   me   round 
and  round  this  hideous  place,  amongst   the   babies 
and  the  nurses  and  the  small  yellow   dogs  —  there 
goes  one ! " 

"  Yes  —  as  you  say  —  there  he  goes,  doomed  to 
destruction  in  the  pound.  Be  sorry  for  him. 
Show  a  little  sympathy  —  poor  beast !  Drowning 
is  not  pleasant  in  this  weather." 

"  Oh  you  do  not  really  think  he  will  be 
drowned  ?  " 

"  No.  I  think  not.  If  you  look,  you  will  see 
that  he  is  a  private  dog,  so  to  say,  though  he  is 
small  and  yellow.  He  is  also  tied  to  the  back  of 
the  perambulator  —  look  —  the  fact  is  proved  by 
his  having  got  through  the  railings  and  almost 


MAKION   DARCHE.  19 

upset  the  baby  and  the  nurse  by  stopping  them 
short.  Keep  your  sympathy  for  the  next  dog, 
and  let  us  talk  about  the  Darches,  if  you  and  I 
can  stop  chaffing." 

"Speak  for  yourself,  Mr.  Vanbrugh.  You 
frightened  me  by  telling  me  the  creature  was  to 
be  drowned." 

"  Very  well.  I  apologise.  Since  he  is  to  live, 
what  do  you  think  is  the  matter  with  the  Darche 
establishment?  Let  me  put  the  questions.  Is 
old  Simon  Darche  in  his  right  mind,  so  as  to 
understand  what  is  going  on  ?  Is  John  Darche 
acting  honestly  by  the  Company  —  and  by  other 
people  ?  Is  Mrs.  Darche  happy  ?  " 

Miss  Maylands  paused  at  the  corner  of  the 
park,  looked  through  the  railings  and  smoothed 
her  muff  of  black  Persian  sheep  with  one  hand 
before  she  made  any  reply.  Russell  Vanbrugh 
watched  her  face  and  glanced  at  the  muff  from 
time  to  time. 

"Well?" 

"I  cannot  answer  your  questions,"  Dolly 
answered  at  last,  looking  into  his  eyes.  "I  do 
not  know  the  answers  to  any  of  them,  and  yet  I 


20  MARION   DARCHB. 

have  asked  them  all  of  myself.  As  to  the  first 
two,  you  ought  to  know  the  truth  better  than  I. 
You  understand  those  things  better  than  I  do. 
And  the  last  —  whether  Marion  is  happy  or  not  — 
have  you  any  particular  reason  for  asking  it  ?  " 

"No."  Vanbrugh  answered  without  the  slight- 
est hesitation,  but  an  instant  later  his  eyes  fell 
before  hers.  She  sighed  almost  inaudibly,  laid  her 
hand  upon  the  railing  and  with  the  other  raised 
the  big  muff  to  her  face  so  that  it  hid  her  mouth 
and  chin.  To  her,  the  lowering  of  his  glance 
meant  something  —  something,  perhaps,  which  she 
had  not  expected  to  find. 

"  You  ask  on  general  —  general  principles  ?  "  she 
inquired  presently,  with  a  rather  nervous  smile. 

But  Vanbrugh  did  not  smile.  The  expression 
of  his  face  did  not  change. 

"  Yes,  on  general  principles,"  he  answered. 
"  It  is  the  main  question,  after  all.  If  Mrs.  Darche 
is  not  happy,  there  must  be  some  very  good 
reason  for  her  unhappiness,  and  the  reason  can- 
not be  far  to  seek.  If  the  old  gentleman  is 
really  losing  his  mind  or  is  going  to  have  softening 
of  the  brain  —  which  is  the  same  thing  after  all  — 


MARION   DAKCHE.  21 

well,  that  might  be  it.  But  I  do  not  believe  she 
cares  so  much  for  him  as  all  that.  If  he  were 
her  own  father  it  would  be  different.  But  he  is 
John's  father,  and  John  —  I  do  not  know  what  to 
say.  It  would  depend  upon  the  answers  to  the 
other  questions." 

"Which  I  cannot  give  you,"  answered  Dolly. 
"I  wish  I  could." 

Dolly  gave  the  railings  a  little  parting  kick 
to  knock  the  snow  from  the  point  of  her  over- 
shoe, lowered  her  muff  and  began  to  walk  again. 
Vanbrugh  walked  beside  her  in  silence. 

"It  is  a  very  serious  question,"  she  began 
again,  when  they  had  gone  a  few  steps.  "  Of 
course  you  think  I  spend  all  my  time  in  frivo- 
lous charities  and  serious  flirtations,  and  dances, 
and  that  sort  of  thing.  But  I  have  my  likes 
and  dislikes,  and  Marion  is  my  friend.  She  is 
older  than  I,  and  when  we  were  girls  I  had 
a  little  girl's  admiration  for  a  big  one.  That 
lasted  until  she  got  married  and  I  grew  up. 
Of  course  it  is  not  the  same  thing  now,  but 
we  are  very  fond  of  each  other.  You  see  I 
have  never  had  a  sister  nor  any  relations  to 


22  MAEION  DABCHB. 

speak  of,  and  in  a  certain  way  she  has  taken 
the  place  of  them  all.  At  first  I  thought  she 
was  happy,  though-  I  could  not  see  how  that 
could  be,  because  —  " 

Dolly  broke  off  .suddenly,  as  though  she 
expected  Vanbrugh  to  understand  what  was 
passing  in  her  mind.  He  said  nothing,  how- 
ever, and  did  not  even  look  at  her  as  he 
walked  silently  by  her  side.  Then  she  glanced 
at  him  once  or  twice  before  she  spoke  again. 

"Of  course  you  know  what  I  am  thinking 
of,"  she  said  at  last.  "You  must  have  thought 
it  all  too,  then  and  now,  and  very  often.  Of 
course  —  you  had  reason  to." 

"What  reason?"  Vanbrugh  looked  up  quickly, 
as  he  asked  the  question. 

"Oh,  I  cannot  go  into  all  that!  You  under- 
stand as  well  as  I  do.  Besides,  it  is  not  a 
pleasant  subject.  John  Darche  was  successful, 
young,  rich,  everything  you  like  —  except  just 
what  one  does  like.  I  always  felt  that  she  had 
married  him  by  mistake." 

"  By  mistake  ?  What  a  strange  idea.  And  who 
should  the  right  man  have  been,  pray  ? " 


MARION   DARCHE.  23 

"  Oh,  no !  She  thought  he  was  the  right  man, 
no  doubt.  It  was  the  mistake  of  fate,  or  provi- 
dence, or  whatever  you  call  the  thing,  if  it  was 
a  mistake  at  all." 

"After  all,"  said  Vanbrugh,  "*what  reason  have 
we,  you  or  I,  for  saying  that  they  are  not  per- 
fectly happy?  Perhaps  they  are.  People  are 
happy  in  so  many  different  ways.  After  all, 
John  Darche  and  his  wife  do  not  seem  to  quar- 
rel. They  only  seem  to  disagree  —  or  rather  —  " 

"Yes,"  answered  Dolly,  "that  is  exactly  it.  It 
is  not  everything  one  sees  or  hears  in  the  house. 
It  is  the  suspicion  that  there  are  unpleasant 
things  which  are  neither  seen  or  heard  by  any 
of  us.  And  then,  the  rest  —  your  questions  about 
the  business,  which  I  cannot  answer  and  which  I 
hardly  understand.  There  are  so  many  people 
concerned  in  an  enormous  business  like  that,  that 
I  cannot  imagine  how  anything  could  be  done 
without  being  found  out." 

"  However  such  things  are  done,"  answered 
Vanbrugh,  gravely,  "  and  sometimes  they  are 
found  out,  and  sometimes  they  are  not.  Let 
us  hope  for  the  best  in  this  case." 


24  MARION  DAECHE. 

"  What  would  be  the  best  if  there  were  any- 
thing to  find  out  ? "  asked  Dolly,  lowering  her 
voice  as  they  paused  before  Simon  Darche's  house. 
"  "Would  it  be  better  that  John  Darche  should 
be  caught  for  the  sake  of  the  people  who  would 
lose  by  him,  or  would  it  be  better  for  his  wife's 
sake  that  he  should  escape  ? " 

"  That  is  a  question  altogether  beyond  my 
judgment,  especially  on  such  short  notice.  Shall 
we  go  in?" 

"  We  ?    Are  you  coming  too  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  am  going  to  lunch  with  the  Darches 
too." 

"  And  you  never  told  me  so  ?  That  is  just  like 
you !  You  get  all  you  can  out  of  me  and  you 
tell  me  nothing." 

"  I  have  nothing  to  tell,"  answered  Vanbrugh 
calmly,  "but  I  apologise  all  the  same.  Shall  I 
ring  the  bell?" 

"  Unless  you  mean  to  take  me  round  Gramercy 
Park  again  and  show  me  more  nurses  and  per- 
ambulators and  dirty  dogs.  Yes,  ring  the  bell 
please.  It  is  past  one  o'clock." 


MAKION  DAKCHE.  25 

A  moment  later  Miss  Dolly  Maylands  and 
Mr.  Russell  Vanbrugh  disappeared  behind  the 
extremely  well-kept  door  of  Simon  Darche's  house 
in  Lexington  Avenue. 


10— Vol.  9 


CHAPTER    II. 

SIMON  DARCHE  stood  at  the  window  of  his 
study,  as  Dolly  and  Vanbrugh  entered  the  house. 
He  was,  at  that  time,  about  seventy-five  years 
of  age,  and  the  life  he  had  led  had  told  upon 
him,  as  an  existence  of  over  excitement  ultimately 
tells  upon  all  but  the  very  strong.  Physically, 
he  was  a  fine  specimen  of  the  American  old  gen- 
tleman. He  was  short,  well  knit,  and  still  fairly 
erect;  his  thick  creamy-white  hair  was  smoothly 
brushed  and  parted  behind,  as  his  well-trimmed 
white  beard  was  carefully  combed  and  parted 
before.  He  had  bushy  eyebrows  in  which  there 
were  still  some  black  threads.  His  face  was 
riiddy  and  polished,  like  fine  old  pink  silk  that 
has  been  much  worn.  But  his  blue  eyes  had 
a  vacant  look  in  them,  and  the  redness  of  the 
lids  made  them  look  weak ;  the  neck  was 
shrunken  at  the  back  and  just  behind  the  ears, 
and  though  the  head  was  well  poised  on  the 

26 


MARION   DARCHE.  27 

shoulders,  it  occasionally  shook  a  little,  or 
dropped  suddenly  out  of  the  perpendicular,  for- 
wards or  to  one  side,  not  as  though  nodding, 
but  as  though  the  sinews  were  gone,  so  that 
it  depended  altogether  upon  equilibrium  and  not 
at  '  all  upon  muscular  tension  for  its  stability. 
This,  however,  was  almost  the  only  outward 
sign  of  physical  weakness.  Simon  Darche  still 
walked  with  a  firm  step,  and  signed  his  name 
in  a  firm  round  hand  at  the  foot  of  the  docu- 
ments brought  to  him  by  his  son  for  signature. 

He  had  perfect  confidence  in  John's  judgment, 
discretion  and  capacity,  for  he  and  his  son  had 
worked  together  for  nearly  twenty  years,  and  John 
had  never  during  that  time  contradicted  him. 
Since  the  business  had  continued  to  prosper 
through  fair  and  foul  financial  weather,  this  was, 
in  Simon  Darche's  mind,  a  sufficient  proof  of 
John's  great  superiority  of  intelligence.  The  Com- 
pany's bonds  and  stock  had  a  steady  value  on  the 
market,  the  interest  on  the  bonds  was  paid  regu- 
larly and  the  Company's  dividends  were  uniformly 
large.  Simon  Darche  continued  to  be  President, 
and  John  Darche  had  now  been  Treasurer  during 


28  MARION   DARCHE. 

more  than  five  years.  Altogether,  the  Company 
had  proved  itself  to  be  a  solid  concern,  capable  of 
surviving  stormy  days  and  of  navigating  serenely 
in  the  erratic  flood  and  ebb  of  the  down-town  tide. 
It  was,  indeed,  apparent  that  before  long  a  new 
President  must  be  chosen,  and  the  choice  was 
likely  to  fall  upon  John.  In  the  ordinary  course 
of  things  a  man  of  Simon  Darche's  age  could  not 
be  expected  to  bear  the  weight  of  such  responsi- 
bility much  longer;  but  so  far  as  any  one  knew, 
his  faculties  were  still  unimpaired  and  his  strength 
was  still  quite  equal  to  any  demands  which  should 
be  made  upon  it,  in  the  ordinary  course  of  events. 
Of  the  business  done  by  the  Company,  it  is  suffi- 
cient to  say  that  it  was  an  important  branch  of 
manufacture,  that  the  controlling  interest  was  gen- 
erally in  the  hands  of  the  Darches  themselves  and 
that  its  value  largely  depended  upon  the  posses- 
sion of  certain  patents  which,  of  course,  would 
ultimately  expire. 

Simon  Darche  stood  at  the  window  of  his  study 
and  looked  out,  smoking  a  large,  mild  cigar  which 
he  occasionally  withdrew  from  his  lips  and  con- 
templated thoughtfully  before  knocking  off  the  ash, 


MARION  DABCHE.  29 

and  returning  it  to  his  mouth.  It  was  a  very  fine 
cigar  indeed,  equal  in  quality  to  everything  which 
Simon  Darche  had  consumed  during  the  greater 
part  of  his  life,  and  he  intended  to  enjoy  it  to  the 
end,  as  he  had  enjoyed  most  things  ever  since  he 
had  been  young.  John,  he  often  said,  did  not 
know  how  to  enjoy  anything;  not  that  John  was 
in  a  hurry,  or  exhibited  flagrantly  bad  taste,  or 
professed  not  to  care  —  on  the  contrary,  the  younger 
man  was  deliberate,  thoughtful  and  fastidious  in 
his  requirements  —  but  there  was  an  odd  strain  of 
asceticism  in  him,  which  his  father  had  never 
understood.  It  certainly  was  not  of  a  religious 
nature,  but  it  would  have  gone  well  together  with 
a  saintly  disposition  such  as  John  did  not  possess. 
Perhaps  indeed,  John  had  the  saintly  temperament 
without  the  sanctity,  and  that,  after  all,  may  be 
better  than  nothing.  He  was  thinner  than  his 
father  and  of  a  paler  complexion ;  his  hair  was 
almost  red,  if  not  quite,  and  his  eyes  were  blue  — 
a  well-built  man,  not  ungraceful  but  a  little 
angular,  careful  of  his  appearance  and  possessed 
of  perfect  taste  in  regard  to  dress,  if  in  nothing 
else.  He  bestowed  great  attention  upon  his  hands, 


30  MARION   DARCHE. 

which  were  small  with  slender  fingers  pointed  at 
the  tips,  and  did  not  seem  to  belong  to  the  same 
epoch  as  the  rest  of  him ;  they  were  almost  unnat- 
urally white,  but  to  his  constant  annoyance  they 
had  an  unlucky  propensity  to  catch  the  dust,  as 
one  says  of  some  sorts  of  cloth.  If  it  be  written 
down  that  a  man  has  characteristically  clean  hands, 
some  critic  will  be  sure  to  remark  that  gentlemen 
are  always  supposed  to  have  clean  hands,  especially 
gentlemen  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  race.  It  is  a  fact, 
nevertheless,  that  however  purely  Anglo-Saxon  the 
possessor  may  be,  there  are  hands  which  are  natu- 
rally not  clean  and  which  neither  ordinary  scrub- 
bing nor  the  care  of  the  manicure  can  ever  keep 
clean  for  more  than  an  hour.  People  who  are  in 
the  habit  of  noticing  hands  are  well  aware  of  the 
fact,  which  depends  upon  the  quality  of  the  skin, 
as  the  reputation  for  cleanliness  itself  generally 
does.  John  Darche's  hands  did  not  satisfy  him  as 
the  rest  of  himself  did. 

So  far  as  people  knew,  he  had  no  vices,  nor 
even  the  small  tastes  and  preferences  which  most 
men  have.  He  did  not  drink  wine,  he  did  not 
smoke,  and  he  rarely  played  cards.  He  was  a 


MARION  DARCHB.  31 

fairly  good  rider  and  rode  for  exercise,  but  did 
not  know  a  pastern  from  a  fetlock  and  trusted  to 
others  to  buy  his  horses  for  him.  He  cared  noth- 
ing for  sport  of  any  kind;  he  had  once  owned  a 
yacht  for  a  short  time,  but  he  had  never  been  any 
further  than  Newport  in  her  and  had  sold  her 
before  the  year  was  out.  He  read  a  good  deal  in 
a  desultory  way  and  criticised  everything  he  read, 
when  he  talked,  but  on  the  whole  he  despised 
literature  as  a  trifle  unworthy  of  a  serious  man's 
attention.  His  religious  convictions  were  problem- 
atic, to  say  the  least  of  it,  and  his  outward  prac- 
tice took  the  somewhat  negative  form  of  never 
swearing,  even  when  he  was  alone.  He  did  no£ 
raise  his  voice  in  argument,  if  he  ever  argued,  nor 
in  anger,  though  he  had  a  very  bad  temper.  John 
Darche  could  probably  say  as  disagreeable  things 
as  any  man  living,  without  exhibiting  the  slightest 
apparent  emotion.  He  was  not  a  popular  man. 
His  acquaintances  disliked  him ;  his  friends  feared 
him;  his  intimates  and  the  members  of  his  house- 
hold felt  that  he  held  them  at  a  distance  and  that 
they  never  really  understood  him.  His  father  be- 
stowed an  almost  childish  admiration  upon  him,  for 


32  MARION   DARCHE. 

which  he  received  a  partial  compensation  in  John's 
uniformly  respectful  manner  and  unvarying  out- 
ward deference.  In  the  last  appeal,  all  matters  of 
real  importance  were  left  to  the  decision  of  Simon 
Darche,  who  always  found  it  easy  to  decide,  be- 
cause the  question,  as  it  reached  him,  was  never 
capable  of  more  than  one  solution. 

It  is  clear  from  what  has  been  said  that  John 
Darche  was  not  an  amiable  character.  But  he 
had  one  small  virtue,  or  good  trait,  or  good  point, 
be  it  called  as  it  may.  He  loved  his  wife,  if  not 
as  a  woman  and  a  companion,  at  least  as  a 
possession.  The  fact  was  not  apparent  to  the 
majority  of  people,  least  of  all,  perhaps,  to  Mrs. 
Darche  herself,  who  was  much  younger  than  her 
husband  and  whose  whole  and  loyal  soul  was 
filled  with  his  cast-off  beliefs,  so  to  say,  or,  at 
least,  with  beliefs  which  he  would  have  cast  off 
if  he  had  ever  possessed  them.  Nevertheless,  he 
was  accustomed  to  consider  her  as  one  of  his  most 
valuable  belongings,  and  he  might  have  been  very 
langerous,  had  his  enormous  dormant  jealousy 
been  roused  by  .the  slightest  show  on  her  part  of 
preference  for  any  one  of  the  half-dozen  men  who 


MARION  DARCHE.  33 

were  intimate  in  the  house.  He,  on  his  side,  gave 
her  no  cause  for  doubting  his  fidelity.  He  was 
not  loving,  his  manner  was  not  affectionate,  he 
often  lost  his  temper  and  said  cruel  things  to  her 
in  his  cruel  way;  but  so  far  as  she  knew  he  did 
not  exchange  ten  words  daily  with  any  other 
woman,  excepting  Mrs.  Willoughby,  her  aunt,  and 
Dolly  Maylands,  her  intimate  friend.  He  was 
systematic  in  his  daily  comings  and  goings,  and 
he  regularly  finished  his  evenings  at  one  of  the 
clubs.  He  slept  little,  but  soundly,  ate  sparingly 
and  without  noticing  what  was  offered  him,  drank 
four  cups  of  tea  and  a  pint  of  Apollinaris  every 
day  and  had  never  been  ill  in  his  life,  which 
promised  to  be  long,  active,  uneventful  and  not 
overflowing  with  blessings  for  any  one  else. 

At  first  it  might  seem  that  there  was  not  much 
ground  for  the  few  words  exchanged  by  Russell 
Vanbrugh  and  Dolly  Maylands  about  the  Darches' 
trouble  before  they  entered  the  house.  To  all 
appearances,  Simon  Darche  was  in  his  normal 
frame  of  mind  and  had  changed  little  during  the 
last  five  years.  So  far  as  any  one  could  judge,  the 
Company  was  as  solid  as  ever.  In  her  outward 


34  MARION   DAECHB. 

manner  and  conversation  Marion  Darche  seemed 
as  well  satisfied  with  her  lot  as  she  had  been  on 
the  day  of  her  marriage,  when  John  had  repre- 
sented to  her  all  that  a  man  should  be,  —  much 
that  another  man,  whom  she  had  loved,  or  liked 
almost  to  loving,  in  her  early  girlhood,  had  not 
been.  The  surface  of  her  life  was  calm  and  un- 
emotional, reflecting  only  the  sunshine  and  storm 
of  the  social  weather  under  which  she  lived  in 
the  more  or  less  close  companionship  of  half  a 
hundred  other  individuals  in  more  or  less  similar 
circumstances. 

There  is  just  enough  truth  in  most  proverbs  to 
make  them  thoroughly  disagreeable.  Take,  for 
instance,  the  saying  that  wealth  is  not  happiness. 
Of  course  it  is  not,  any  more  than  food  and 
lodging,  shoes  and  clothing,  which  are  the 
ultimate  forms  of  wealth,  can  be  called  happiness. 
But  surely,  wealth  and  all  that  wealth  gives  con- 
stitute a  barrier  against  annoyance,  mental  and 
physical,  which  has  almost  as  much  to  do  with 
the  maintenance  of  happiness  in  the  end,  as 
"climate  and  the  affections."  The  demonstration 
is  a  simple  one.  Poverty  can  of  itself  under 


MARION   DARCHE.  3 

certain  circumstances  be  a  source  of  unhappiness. 
The  possession  of  riches  therefore  is  a  barrier 
against  the  possibility  of  at  least  one  sort  of 
misery  and  relatively  increases  the  chances  of 
being  happy  on  the  whole.  It  is  tolerably 
certain,  that,  without  money,  John  Darche  would 
have  been  little  short  of  insufferable,  and  that  his 
wife  would  have  been  chief  among  the  sufferers. 
The  presence  of  a  great  fortune  preserved  the 
equilibrium  and  produced  upon  outsiders  the  im- 
pression of  real  felicity. 

Nevertheless,  both  Vanbrugh  and  Dolly  May- 
lands,  as  has  been  seen,  considered  the  fortune 
unsafe  and  the  apparent  peace  problematic.  They 
were  among  the  most  intimate  friends  of  the 
Darche  household  and  were  certainly  better  able 
to  judge  of  the  state  of  affairs  than  the  majority. 
They  had  doubtless  perceived  in  the  domestic 
atmosphere  something  of  that  sultriness  which 
foreruns  a  storm  and  sometimes  precedes  an 
earthquake,  and  being  very  much  in  sympathy 
with  each  other,  in  spite  of  the  continual  chaffing 
which  formed  the  basis  of  their  conversation, 
they  had  both  begun  to  notice  the  signs  of  bad 
weather  very  neavfly  at  the  same  time. 


36  MARION   DAECHB. 

It  must  not  be  supposed  that  Mrs.  Darche  con 
fided  her  woes  to  her  friend,  to  use  the  current 
expression  by  which  reticent  people  characterise 
the  follies  of  others.  It  was  not  even  certain  at 
this  time  that  she  had  any  woes  at  all,  but  Dolly 
undoubtedly  noticed  something  in  her  conduct 
which  betrayed  anxiety  if  not  actual  unhappiness, 
and  Russell  Vanbrugh,  who,  as  has  been  observed, 
was  intimately  acquainted  with  many  aspects  of 
New  York  life,  had  some  doubts  as  to  the  state  of 
the  Company's  affairs.  No  one  is  really  reticent. 
It  would  perhaps  be  more  just  to  the  human  race 
as  a  whole  to  say  that  no  two  persons  are  capable 
of  keeping  the  same  secret  at  the  same  time.  That 
is  probably  the  reason  why  there  is  always  some 
rumour  of  an  approaching  financial  crisis,  even 
while  it  is  very  much  to  the  interest  of  all  con- 
cerned to  preserve  a  calm  exterior.  When  a  great 
house  is  about  to  have  trouble,  and  even  in  some 
cases  as  much  as  two  or  three  years  before  the 
disaster,  there  is  a  dull  far-off  rumble  from  under- 
ground, as  though  the  foundations  were  trembling. 
There  is  a  creaking  of  the  timbers,  an  occasional 
and  as  yet  unaccountable  rattling  of  the  panes, 


MARION    DABCHE.  37 

and  sometimes  a  very  slight  distortion  .of  the  lines 
of  the  edifice,  all  proving  clearly  enough  that  a 
crash  is  at  hand.  As  no  one  believes  in  presenti- 
ments, divinations  or  the  gift  of  prophecy  in  these 
days,  it  is  safe  to  assume  that  some  one  who  knows 
the  history  of  the  thing  lias  betrayed  the  secret, 
or  has  told  his  wife  that  there  is  a  secret  to  be 
kept.  In  the  matter  of  secrets  there  is  but  one 
general  rule.  If  you  do  not  wish  a  fact  to  be 
known,  tell  no  one  of  its  existence. 

Concerning  the  particular  reasons  which  led 
Dolly  Maylands  and  Russell  Vanbrugh  to  exchange 
opinions  on  the  subject  of  the  Darches,  it  is  hardly 
necessary  to  speak  here.  The  two  were  very 
intimate  and  had  known  each  other  for  a  long 
time,  and,  possibly,  there  was  a  tendency  in  their 
acquaintance  to  something  more  like  affection  than 
friendship.  The  fact  that  Dolly  did  not  flirt  with 
Vanbrugh  in  the  ordinary  acceptation  of  that  word, 
showed  that  she  might  possibly  be  in  love  with 
him.  As  for  Vanbrugh  himself,  no  one  knew 
what  he  thought  and  he  did  not  intend  that  any 
one  should.  He  had  never  shown  any  inclination 
to  be  married,  though  it  was  said  that  he,  like 


38  MARION    DARCHE. 

many  others,  had  been  deeply  attached  to  Mrs. 
Darche  in  former  days ;  and  Dolly,  at  least,  believed 
that  he  still  loved  her  friend  in  his  heart,  though 
she  had  neither  the  courage  nor  the  bad  taste  to 
ask  a  question  to  which  he  might  reasonably  have 
refused  an  answer. 

The  only  person  in  the  household  who  seemed 
to  have  neither  doubts  nor  uneasiness  was  old  Simon 
Darche,  and  as  it  was  more  than  likely  that  his 
intelligence  had  begun  to  fail,  his  own  sense  of 
security  was  not  especially  reassuring  to  others. 

While  Simon  Darche  was  smoking  his  large 
mild  cigar  at  the  window,  and  while  Dolly  and 
Russell  Vanbrugh  were  strolling  by  the  railings  of 
Gramercy  Park,  Mrs.  Darche  was  seated  before  the 
fire  in  the  library,  and  another  friend  of  hers,  who 
has  a  part  to  play  in  this  little  story  and  who, 
like  Vanbrugh,  was  a  lawyer,  was  trying  to  interest 
her  in  the  details  of  a  celebrated  case  concerning 
a  will,  and  was  somewhat  surprised  to  find  that 
he  could  not  succeed.  Harry  Brett  stood  towards 
Marion  Darche  in  very  much  the  same  friendly 
relation  held  by  Vanbrugh  in  Dolly's  existence. 
There  was  this  difference,  however,  that  Brett  was 


MARION  DARCHE.  39 

well  known  to  have  offered  himself  to  Mrs.  Darche, 
who  had  refused  him  upon  grounds  which  were 
not  clear  to  the  social  public.  Brett  was  certainly 
not  so  rich  as  John,  but  in  all  other  respects  he 
seemed  vastly  more  desirable  as  a  husband.  He  was 
young,  fresh,  good-looking,  good-tempered.  He 
belonged  to  a  good  New  York  family,  whereas  the 
Darches  were  of  Canadian  origin.  He  had  been 
quite  evidently  and  apparently  very  much  in  love 
with  Marion,  whereas  John  never  seemed  to  have 
looked  upon  her  as  anything  but  a  valuable  pos- 
session, to  be  guarded  for  its  intrinsic  worth,  and 
to  be  kept  in  good  order  and  condition  rather 
than  loved  and  cherished.  Every  one  had  said 
that  she  should  have  married  Brett,  and  when  she 
chose  John  eveiy  one  said  that  she  had  married  his 
money.  But  then  it  is  impossible  to  please  every 
one.  Brett  was  certainly  not  pleased.  He  had  gone 
abroad  and  had  been  absent  a  long  time,  just  when 
he  should  have  been  working  at  his  profession. 
It  was  supposed,  not  without  reason,  that  he  was 
profoundly  disappointed,  but  nevertheless,  when 
he  returned  he  looked  as  fresh  and  cheerful  as  ever, 
was  kindly  received  by  Mrs.  Darche,  civilly  treated 


40  MARION   DARCHE. 

by  her  husband  and  forthwith  fell  into  the  position 
of  especial  friend  to  the  whole  family.  He  had 
made  up  his  mind  to  forget  all  about  the  past,  to 
see  as  much  of  Mrs.  Darche  as  he  could  without 
falling  in  love  with  her  a  second  time,  as  he  would 
have  called  it,  and  he  -was  doing  his  best  to  be 
happy  in  his  own  way.  Within  the  bounds  of 
possibility  he  had  hitherto  succeeded,  and  no  one 
who  wished  well  to  him  or  Mrs.  Darche  would 
have  desired  to  doubt  the  durability  of  his  success. 
He  had  created  an  artificial  happiness  and  spent 
his  life  in  fostering  the  idea  that  it  was  real. 
Many  a  better  man  has  done  the  same  before  him 
and  many  a  worse  may  try  hereafter.  But  the 
result  always  has  been  the  same  and  in  all  likeli- 
hood always  will  be.  The  most  refined  and  perfect 
artificiality  is  not  nature  even  to  him  who  most 
earnestly  wishes  to  believe  it  is,  and  the  time  must 
inevitably  come  in  all  such  lives  when  nature, 
being  confronted  with  her  image,  finds  it  but 
a  caricature  and  dashes  it  to  pieces  in  wrath. 

Brett's  existence  was  indeed  much  more  arti- 
ficial than  that  of  his  old  love.  He  had  at- 
tempted to  create  the  semblance  of  a  new  relation 


MARION  DARCHE.  41 

on  the  dangerous  ground  whereon  an  older  and 
a  truer  one  had  subsisted.  She,  on  her  part, 
had  accepted  circumstances  as  they  had  formed 
themselves,  and  did  her  best  to  get  what  she 
could  out  of  them  without  any  attempt  to 
deceive  herself  or  others.  Fortunately  for  both 
she  was  eminently  a  good  woman,  and  Brett 
was  a  gentleman  in  heart,  as  well  as  in  deed. 

And  now  before  this  tale  is  told,  there  only 
remains  the  thankless  task  of  introducing  these 
last  two  principal  figures  in  their  pen-and-ink 
effigies. 

Of  Harry  Brett  almost  enough  has  been  said 
already.  His  happy  vitality  would  have  lent 
him  something  of  beauty  even  if  he  had  possessed 
none  at  all.  But  he  had  a  considerable  share 
of  good  looks,  in  addition  to  his  height  and  well- 
proportioned  frame,  his  bright  blue  eyes,  his  fresh 
complexion,  and  short,  curly  brown  hair.  He  too, 
like  Vanbrugh,  belonged  to  the  American  type, 
which  has  regular  features,  arched  eyebrows,  and 
rather  deep-set  eyes.  The  lower  part  of  his  face 
was  strong,  though  the  whole  outline  was  oval 
rather  than  round  or  square. 


42  MARION    DARCHB. 

Rather  a  conventional  hero,  perhaps,  if  he  is 
to  be  a  hero  at  all,  but  then,  many  heroes  have 
been  thought  to  be  quite  average,  ordinary  per- 
sons, until  the  knot  which  heroism  cuts  was  pre- 
sented to  them  by  fate.  Then  people  discover  in 
them  all  sorts  of  outward  signs  of  the  inward 
grace  that  can  hit  so  very  hard.  Then  the  phre- 
nologists descend  upon  their  devoted  skulls  and 
discover  there  the  cranial  localities  of  the  vast 
energy,  the  dauntless  courage,  the  boundless  devo- 
tion to  a  cause,  the  profound  logic,  by  which 
great  events  are  brought  about  and  directed  to 
the  end.  Julius  Caesar  at  the  age  of  thirty  was 
a  frivolous  dandy,  an  amateur  lawyer,  and  a 
dilettante  politician,  in  the  eyes  of  good  society 
in  Rome. 

Harry  Brett,  however,  is  not  a  great  hero,  even 
in  this  fiction  —  a  manly  fellow  with  no  faults 
of  any  importance  and  no  virtues  of  any  great 
magnitude,  young,  healthy,  good-looking,  coura- 
geous, troubled  a  little  with  the  canker  of  the 
untrue  ideal  which  is  apt  to  eat  the  common 
sense  out  of  the  core  of  life's  tree,  mistaken 
in  his  attempt  to  create  in  himself  an  artificial 


MARION    D  ARC  HE.  43 

satisfaction  in  .  the  friendship  of  the  woman  he 
had  loved  and  was  in  danger  of  loving  still, 
gifted  with  the  clear  sight  which  must  sooner 
or  later  see  through  his  self-made  illusion,  and 
possessed  of  more  than  the  average  share  of  readi- 
ness in  speech  and  action  —  a  contrast,  in  this 
respect,  to  Vanbrugh.  The  latter,  from  having 
too  comprehensive  a  view  of  things,  was  often 
slow  in  reaching  a  decision.  Brett  was  more 
like  Mrs.  Darche  herself  in  respect  of  quick 
judgment  and  self-reliance  at  first  sight,  if  such 
a  novel  expression  is  permissible. 

As  Marion  sat  before  the  fire  apparently  study- 
ing its  condition  and  meditating  a  descent  upon 
it,  after  the  manner  of  her  kind,  she  was  not 
paying  much  attention  to  Brett's  interesting  story 
about  the  great  lawyer  who  had  drawn  up  his 
own  will  so  that  hardly  a  clause  of  it  had 
turned  out  to  be  legal,  and  Brett  himself  was 
more  absorbed  in  watching  her  than  in  telling 
the  complicated  tale.  She  was  generally  admitted 
to  be  handsome.  Her  enemies  said  that  she  had 
green  eyes  and  yellow  hair,  which  was  apparently 
true,  but  they  also  said  that  she  dyed  the  one 


44  MAEION   DARCHB. 

and  improved  the  other  with  painting,  which  was 
false.  Her  hair  was  naturally  as  fair  as  yellow 
gold,  of  an  even  colour  throughout,  and  the 
shadows  beneath  her  eyes  and  the  dark  eyebrows, 
which  were  sources  of  so  much  envy  and  malice, 
were  natural  and  not  done  with  little  coloured 
sticks  of  greasy  crayon  kept  in  tubes  made  to 
look  like  silver  pencil-cases,  and  generally  con- 
cealed beneath  the  lace  of  the  toilet  table  or  in 
the  toe  of  a  satin  slipper. 

Marion  Darche  was  handsome  and  looked 
strong,  though  there  was  rarely  much  colour  in 
her  face.  She  did  not  flush  easily.  Women  who 
do,  often  have  an  irritable  heart,  as  the  doctors 
call  the  thing,  and  though  their  affections  may 
be  stable  their  circulation  is  erratic.  They  suffer 
agonies  of  shyness  in  youth  and  considerable 
annoyance  in  maturer  years  from  the  conscious- 
ness that  the  blood  is  forever  surging  in  their 
cheeks  at  the  most  inopportune  moment;  and 
the  more  they  think  of  it,  the  more  they  blush, 
which  does  not  mend  matters  and  often  betrays 
secrets.  Three-fourths  of  the  shyness  one  sees  in 
the  world  is  the  result  of  an  irritable  heart. 


MARION   DARCHB.  45 

Marion    Darche's   circulation    was    normal,  and   she 
was  not  shy. 

Like  many  strong  persons,  she  was  gentle, 
naturally  cheerful  and  generally  ready  to  help 
any  one  who  needed  assistance.  She  had  an 
admirably  even  temper  —  a  matter,  like  physical 
courage,  which  depends  largely  upon  the  action 
of  the  heart  and  the  natural  quality  of  the 
nerves  —  and  under  all  ordinary  circumstances  she 
ate  and  slept  like  other  people.  She  did  not 
look  at  all  like  Helen  or  Clyternnestra,  and  her 
disposition  was  not  in  the  least  revengeful  —  a 
quiet,  tall,  fair  young  woman,  whose  clear  eyes 
looked  every  one  calmly  in  the  face  and  whose 
strong  white  hands  touched  things  delicately  but 
could  hold  firmly  when  she  chose ;  carrying 
herself  straight  through  a  crowd,  as  she  bore 
herself  upright  through  life.  Those  who  knew 
her  face  best  admired  especially  her  mouth  and 
the  small,  well-cut,  advancing  chin,  which  seemed 
made  to  meet  difficulties  as  a  swimmer's  divides 
the  water.  In  figure,  as  in  face,  too,  she  was  strong, 
the  undulating  curves  were  those  of  elasticity  and 
energy,  rather  than  of  indolence  and  repose. 


46  MABION   DABCHE. 

As  Harry  Brett  talked  and  watched  her  he 
honestly  tried  not  to  wish  that  she  might  have 
been  his  wife,  and  when  his  resolution  broke 
down  he  conscientiously  talked  on  and  did  his 
best  to  interest  himself  in  his  own  conversation. 
The  effort  was  familiar  to  him  of  old,  and  had 
so  often  ended  in  failure  that  he  was  glad  when 
the  distant  tinkle  of  the  door  bell  announced  the 
coming  of  a  third  person.  John  rarely  lunched 
at  home  and  old  Mr*  Darche  was  never  sum- 
moned until  the  meal  was  served.  Brett  broke 
off  in  the  middle  of  his  story  and  laughed  a 
little. 

"  I  believe  you  have  not  understood  a  word 
of  what  I  have  been  telling  you,"  he  said. 

Mrs.  Darche  looked  up  suddenly,  abandoned 
the  study  of  the  burning  logs  and  leaned  back 
in  her  chair  before  she  answered.  Then  she 
looked  at  him  quietly  and  smiled,  not  even 
attempting  to  deny  the  imputation. 

"It  is  very  rude  of  me,  is  it  not?  You  must 
forgive  me,  to-day.  I  am  very  much  preoccupied." 

"You   often     are,    nowadays,"     answered    Brett, 


MARION   DARCHE.  47 

with  a  short,  manlike  sigh,  which  might  have 
passed  for  a  sniff  of  dissatisfaction. 

"  I  know  I  am.     I  am  sorry." 

The  door  opened  and  Dolly  Maylands  entered 
the  room,  followed  closely  by  Russell  Vaubrugh. 


CHAPTER  III. 

SIMON  DARCHE  was  undoubtedly  a  bore.  Since 
bores  exist  and  there  is  no  other  name  for  them, 
the  strong  word  has  some  right  to  pass  into  the 
English  language.  The  old  gentleman  belonged 
to  the  unconscious  and  self-complacent  variety 
of  the  species,  which  is,  on  the  whole,  less  un- 
bearable than  certain  others.  Generally  speaking, 
it  is  true  that  people  who  are  easily  bored  are 
bores  themselves,  but  there  are  many  very  genuine 
and  intolerable  bores  who  go  through  life  rejoic- 
ing and  convinced  that  their  conversation  is  a 
blessing  and  their  advice  a  treasure  to  those  who 
get  it. 

Bores  always  have  one  or  two  friends.  Simon 
Darche  had  found  one  in  his  daughter-in-law  and 
he  availed  himself  of  her  friendship  to  the  utmost, 
so  that  it  was  amazing  to  see  how  much  she 
could  bear,  for  she  was  as  constantly  bored  by 
him  as  other  people,  and  appeared,  indeed,  to 

48 


MARION  DARCHE.  49 

be  his  favourite  victim.  But  no  one  had  ever 
heard  her  complain.  Day  after  day  she  listened 
to  his  talk,  smiled  at  his  old  stories,  read  to  him, 
and  seemed  rather  to  seek  his  society  than  to 
avoid  it.  She  was  never  apparently  tired  of  hear- 
ing about  John's  childhood  and  youth  and  she 
received  the  old  man's  often  repeated  confidences 
concerning  his  own  life  with  an  ever-renewed 
expression  of  sympathy. 

"  I  simply  could  not  stand  it  for  a  day !  "  ex- 
claimed Dolly  occasionally.  "Why,  he  is  worse 
than  my  school  children !  " 

Miss  Maylands  could  not  put  the  case  more 
strongly.  Perhaps  no  one  else  could. 

"I  like  him,"  answered  Mrs.  Darche.  "I  know  he 
is  a  bore.  But  then,  I  suppose  I  am  a  bore  myself." 

"Oh,  Marion!"     And  Dolly  laughed. 

That  was  generally  the  end  of  the  conversation. 
But  Dolly,  who  was  by  no  means  altogether 
frivolous  and  had  a  soul,  and  bestowed  now  and 
then  considerable  attention  upon  its  religious  toi- 
let, so  to  say  —  Dolly  fancied  that  Papa  Darche, 
as  she  called  him,  took  the  place  of  a  baby  in  her 
friend's  heart.  Rather  a  permanent  and  antique 

11— Vol.  9 


50  MARION   DAECHB. 

baby,  Dolly  thought,  but  better  than  nothing  for 
a  woman  who  felt  that  she  must  love  and  take 
care  of  something  helpless.  She  herself  did  not 
care  for  that  sort  of  thing.  The  maternal  instinct 
developed  itself  in  another  direction  and  she 
taught  children  in  a  kindergarten.  The  stupid 
ones  tired  her,  as  she  expressed  it,  but  then  her 
soul  came  to  the  rescue  and  did  its  best,  which 
was  not  bad.  Dolly  was  a  good  girl,  though  she 
had  too  many  "purposes"  in  life. 

Not  many  minutes  after  she  and  Vanbrugh  had 
entered  the  room  on  the  morning  described  in  the 
previous  chapters,  luncheon  was  announced. 

"  Tell  Mr.  Darche  that  luncheon  is  ready, 
Stubbs,"  said  Marion,  and  Stubbs,  gray-haired, 
portly,  rosy-cheeked  and  respectful,  disappeared 
to  summon  the  old  gentleman. 

Vanbrugh  looked  at  Brett  and  both  smiled, 
hardly  knowing  why.  Neither  of  them  had  ever 
lunched  at  the  house  without  hearing  the  same 
order  given  by  the  hostess.  People  often  smile 
foolishly  at  familiar  things,  merely  because  they 
are  familiar.  Dolly  and  Mrs.  Darche  had  sat 
down  together  and  the  two  men  stood  side  by 


MARION   DAKCHE.  51 

side  near  a  table  on  which  a  number  of  reviews 
and  periodicals  were  neatly  arranged  in  order. 
Brett  idly  took  up  one  of  them  and  held  it  in 
his  hand. 

"  By  the  bye,"  he  said,  "  to-day  is  not  Sunday. 
You  are  not  ill,  I  hope." 

"  Only  lazy,"  answered  Vanbrugh. 

"  So  am  I,"  answered  Brett  after  a  moment's 
pause. 

There  they  stood  in  silence,  apathetically  glanc- 
ing at  the  two  ladies,  at  the  fire  and  at  the  win- 
dow, as  two  men  who  know  each  other  very 
well  are  apt  to  do  when  they  are  waiting  for 
luncheon.  Brett  chanced  to  look  down  at  the 
magazine  he  held  in  his  hand.  It  was  bound 
in  white  paper  and  the  back  of  the  cover  was 
.occupied  by  a  huge  advertisement  in  large  letters. 
The  white  margin  around  it  was  filled  with  cal- 
culations made  in  blue  and  red  pencil,  with 
occasional  marks  in  green.  Mechanically  Brett's 
eyes  followed  the  calculations.  The  same  figure, 
a  high  one,  recurred  in  many  places,  and  any  one 
with  a  child's  knowledge  of  arithmetic  could  have 
seen  that  there  was  a  constant  attempt  to  make 


52  MAKION   DARCHE. 

up  another  sum  corresponding  to  it,  —  an  attempt 
which  seemed  always  to  have  failed.  Brett  re- 
membered that  Darche  carried  a  pencil-case  with 
leads  of  three  colours  in  it,  and  he  tossed  the 
magazine  upon  the  table  as  though  he  realised 
that  he  had  been  prying  into  another  person's 
business.  He  glanced  at  Mrs.  Darche  who  was 
still  talking  with  Dolly,  and  a  moment  later  he 
took  up  the  magazine  again  and  cautiously  tore 
off  the  back  of  the  cover,  crumpled  it  in  his 
hands,  approached  the  fire  and  tossed  it  into  the 
flames.  Mrs.  Darche  looked  up  quickly. 

"What  is  that?"  she   asked. 

"Oh,  nothing,"  answered  Brett,  "only  a  bit  of 
paper." 

Just  then  Simon  Darche  entered  the  room  and 
all  rose  to  go  in  to  luncheon  together. 

The  old  gentleman  shook  hands  with  Dolly 
and  with  both  the  men,  looking  keenly  into 
their  faces,  but  mentioning  no  names.  He  was 
cheerful  and  ruddy,  and  a  stranger  might  have 
expected  his  conversation  to  be  enlivening. 
In  this  however  he  would  have  been  egregiously 
disappointed. 


MAEION  DABCHB.  53 

"What  have  you  been  doing  this  morning?" 
asked  Mrs.  Darche  turning  to  him. 

She  had  asked  the  question  every  day  for 
years,  whenever  she  had  lunched  at  home. 

"  Very  busy,  very  busy,"  answered  Mr.  Darche. 

His  hands  did  not  tremble  as  he  unfolded 
his  napkin,  but  he  seemed  to  bestow  an  extraor- 
dinary amount  of  attention  on  the  exact  posi- 
tion of  the  glasses  before  him,  pushing  them  a 
little  forwards  and  backwards  and  glancing  at 
them  critically  until  he  was  quite  satisfied. 

"  Busy,  of  course,"  he  said  and  looked  cheer- 
fully round  the  table.  "  There  is  no  real  happi- 
ness except  in  hard  work.  If  I  could  only  make 
you  understand  that,  Marion,  you  would  be  much 
happier.  Early  to  bed  and  early  to  rise." 

"Makes  a  man  stupid  and  closes  his  eyes," 
observed  Brett,  finishing  the  proverb  in  its 
modern  form. 

"What,  what?     What  doggerel  is  that?" 

"Did  you  never  hear  that?"  asked  Dolly, 
laughing.  "It  is  from  an  unwritten  and  un- 
published book  —  modern  proverbs." 

Simon  Darche  shook  his  head  and  smiled  feebly. 


54  MAKION  DARCHB. 

"Dear  me,  dear  me,  I  thought  you  were  in 
earnest,"  he  said. 

"So  he  is,"  said  Dolly.  "We  may  have  to 
get  up  at  dawn  sometimes,  but  we  are  far  too 
much  in  earnest  to  go  to  bed  early." 

This  was  evidently  beyond  Simon  Darche's 
comprehension  and  he  relapsed  into  silence  and 
the  consumption  of  oysters.  Mrs.  Darche 
glanced  reproachfully  at  Dolly  as  though  to 
tell  her  that  she  should  not  chaff  the  old 
gentleman,  and  Vanbrugh  came  to  the  rescue. 

"  Do  you  often  get  up  at  dawn,  Miss  Maylands  ?  " 
he  inquired. 

"Do  I  look  as  if  I  did?"  .retorted  the  young 
lady. 

"How  in  the  world  should  I  know,"  asked 
Vanbrugh.  "Do  I  look  as  though  I  associated 
with  people  who  got  up  at  dawn?" 

Brett  laughed. 

"  It  always  amuses  me  to  hear  you  and 
Vanbrugh  talk,  Miss  Maylands." 

"  Does  it,  I  am  so  glad,"  said  Dolly. 

"Yes,  you  seem  perfectly  incapable  of  saying 
one  word  to  each  other  without  chaffing." 


MARION   DABCHE.  55 

Old  Mr.  Darche  had  finished  his  oysters. 

"Yes  —  yes,"  he  observed.  "A  pair  of  chaf- 
finches." 

A  moment  of  silence  followed  this  appalling 
pun.  Then  Mrs.  Darche  laughed  a  little  ner- 
vously, and  Brett,  who  wished  to  help  her, 
followed  her  example.  The  old  gentleman  him- 
self seemed  delighted  with  his  own  wit. 

"We  are  beginning  well,"  said  Dolly.  "Puns 
and  proverbs  with  the  oysters.  What  shall  we 
get  with  the  fruit?" 

Vanbrugh  was  inclined  to  suggest  that  the  des- 
sert would  probably  find  them  in  an  idiot  asylum, 
but  he  wisely  abstained  from  words  and  tried  to 
turn  the  conversation  into  a  definite  channel. 

"Did  you  read  that  book  I  sent  you,  Mrs. 
Darche  ?  "  he  asked. 

"Yes,"  answered  the  latter,  "I  began  to  read 
it  to  my  father-in-law  but  he  did  not  care  for 
it,  so  I  am  going  on  with  it  alone." 

"What  book  was  that,  my  dear?"  inquired  the 
old  gentleman. 

Mrs.  Darche  named  a  recent  foreign  novel 
which  had  been  translated. 


56  MARION   DABCHE. 

"  Oh,  that  thing ! "  exclaimed  her  father-in-law. 
"Why,  it  is  all  about  Frenchmen  and  tea  parties! 
Very  dull.  Very  dull.  But  then  a  busy  man 
like  myself  has  very  little  time  for  such  nonsense. 
Mr.  Trehearne,  I  suppose  I  could  not  give  you 
any  idea  of  the  amount  of  work  I  have  to  do." 

He  looked  at  Vanbrugh  as  he  spoke. 

"  Trehearne  ? "  Brett  repeated  the  name  in  a 
low  voice,  looking  at  Mrs.  Darche. 

"I  know  you  are  one  of  the  busiest  men  alive," 
said  Vanbrugh  quietly  and  without  betraying 
the  slightest  astonishment. 

"I  should  think  so,"  said  Simon  Darche,  "and 
I  am  very  glad  I  am.  Nothing  keeps  a  man  busy 
like  being  successful.  And  I  may  fairly  say  that 
I  have  been  very  successful  —  thanks  to  John, 
well  —  I  suppose  I  may  take  a  little  credit  to 
myself." 

"Indeed  you  may,"  said  Mrs.  Darche  readily. 

Every  one  thought  it  wise  and  proper  to  join 
in  a  little  murmur  of  approval,  but  Dolly  was 
curious  to  see  what  the  old  gentleman  would  say 
next.  She  wondered  whether  his  taking  Van- 
brugh for  old  Mr.  Trehearne,  who  had  been  a 


MAEION   DAKCHE.  57 

friend  of  his  youth  and  who  had  been  dead  some 
years,  was  the  first  sign  of  mental  decay.  From 
Mrs.  Darche's  calm  manner  she  inferred  that  this 
was  not  the  first  time  he  had  done  something  of 
the  kind,  and  her  mind  went  back  quickly  to 
her  conversation  with  Vanbrugh  that  morning  in 
Gramercy  Park.  Simon  Darche  was  still  talking. 

"The  interests  of  the  Company  are  becoming 
positively  gigantic,  and  there  seems  to  be  no  end 
to  the  fresh  issues  that  are  possible,  though  none 
of  them  have  been  brought  to  me  to  sign  yet." 

Brett  looked  quickly  at  Vanbrugh,  but  the 
latter  was  imperturbable. 

At  that  moment  the  door  opened  and  John 
Darche  entered  the  dining-room.  His  face  was  a 
little  paler  than  usual  and  he  seemed  tired.  Mrs. 
Darche  looked  at  him  in  surprise  and  her  father- 
in-law  smiled  as  he  always  did  when  he  saw  his 
son.  Every  one  present  said  something  more  or 
less  incomprehensible  by  way  of  greeting.  The 
new-comer  shook  hands  with  Dolly  Maylands, 
nodded  to  the  rest  and  sat  down  in  the  place 
which  was  always  reserved  for  him  opposite  his 
wife. 


58  MARION  DARCHE. 

"I  had  nothing  particular  to  do,  so  I  came 
home  to  luncheon,"  he  said,  by  way  of  explain- 
ing his  unexpected  appearance. 

"I  am  so  glad." 

"  Nothing  particular  to  do ! "  exclaimed  the 
old  gentleman  momentarily  surprised  into  his 
senses. 

"Nothing  requiring  my  presence,"  answered 
John  Darche  gravely.  "I  was  down  town  early 
this  morning  and  cleared  off  everything.  I  shall 
ride  this  afternoon." 

"Quite  right,  quite  right,  my  boy!"  put  in 
Simon  Darche.  "  You  should  take  care  of  your 
health.  You  have  been  doing  too  much  of  late. 
I  suppose,"  he  added,  looking  about  at  the  others, 
"that  there  is  not  a  man  alive  who  has  my  son's 
power  of  work." 

"  You  do  work  dreadfully  hard,  John,"  said  Mrs. 
Darche. 

"But  then,"  said  her  father-in-law  with  evident 
pride,  "John  leads  such  a  regular  life.  He  does 
not  drink,  he  does  not  smoke,  he  does  not  sit  up 
late  at  night  —  altogether,  I  must  say  that  he  takes 
better  care  of  himself  than  I  ever  did.  And  that 


MARION  DARCHE.  59 

is  the  reason,"  continued  the  old  gentleman  with 
increasing  animation,  "  that  he  has  accomplished 
so  much.  If  some  of  you  young  men  would 
follow  his  example  you  would  do  a  great  deal 
more  in  the  world.  Regular  hours,  regular  meals, 
no  cocktails  —  oh  I  daresay  if  I  had  never  smoked 
a  cigar  in  my  life  I  should  be  good  for  another 
fifty  years.  John  will  live  to  be  a  hundred." 

"Let  us  hope  so,"  said  Vanbrugh  blandly. 

"What  is  this  particular  disagreeable  thing 
you  have  given  me  to  eat?"  inquired  John  look- 
ing at  his  wife. 

Mrs.  Darche  looked  up  in  surprise.  The  re- 
mark was  quite  in  keeping  with  his  usual  manner, 
but  it  was  very  unlike  him  to  notice  anything 
that  was  put  before  him. 

"  I  believe  it  is  a  shad,"  she  said. 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  it  is,"  answered  John.  "  The 
thing  has  bones  in  it.  Give  me  something  else, 
Stubbs." 

He  got  something  else  to  eat  and  relapsed  into 
silence.  The  remainder  of  the  luncheon  was  not 
gay,  for  his  coming  had  chilled  even  Dolly's  good 
spirits.  Brett  and  Vanbrugh  did  their  best  to 


60  MARION  DARCHE. 

sustain  the  conversation,  but  the  latter  felt  more 
certain  than  ever  that  something  serious  was  the 
matter.  Old  Simon  Darche  meandered  on,  inter- 
spersing his  praise  of  his  son  and  his  boasts  of 
the  prosperity  of  the  Company  with  stale  proverbs 
and  atrocious  puns.  Almost  as  soon  as  the  meal 
was  over  the  few  guests  departed  with  that  un- 
pleasant sense  of  unsatisfied  moral  appetite  which 
people  have  when  they  have  expected  to  enjoy 
being  together  and  have  been  disappointed. 

When  every  one  was  gone  John  Darche  re- 
mained in  the  drawing-room  with  his  wife.  He 
sat  down  in  his  chair  like  a  man  over-tired  with 
hard  work,  and  something  like  a  sigh  escaped  him. 
Mrs.  Darche  pushed  a  small  table  to  his  side,  laid 
his  papers  upon  it  and  sat  down  opposite  him. 
A  long  silence  followed.  From  time  to  time  she 
looked  up  at  her  husband  as  though  she  expected 
him  to  say  something,  but  he  did  not  open  his 
lips,  though  he  often  stared  at  her  for  several 
minutes  together.  His  unwinking  blue  eyes  faced 
the  light  as  he  looked  at  her,  and  their  expression 
was  disagreeable  to  her,  so  that  she  lowered  her 
own  rather  than  encounter  it. 


MARION   DARCHE.  61 

"Are  things  growing  worse,  John?"  at  last  she 
asked  him. 

"Worse?      What  do  you  mean?" 

"You  told  me  some  time  ago  that  you  were 
anxious.  I  thought  that  perhaps  you  might  be 
in  some  trouble." 

John  did  not  answer  at  once  but  looked  at  her 
as  though  he  did  not  see  her,  took  up  a  paper  and 
glanced  absently  over  the  columns  of  advertise- 
ments. 

"  Oh  no,"  he  said  at  last,  as  though  her  question 
had  annoyed  him.  "There  is  nothing  wrong, 
nothing  whatever."  Again  a  silence  followed. 
Mrs.  Darche  went  to  her  writing-table  and  began 
to  write  a  note.  John  did  not  move. 

"Marion,"  said  he  at  last,  "has  any  one  been 
talking  to  you  about  my  affairs?" 

"No  indeed,"  answered  Mrs.  Darche  in  evident 
surprise  at  the  question,  but  with  such  ready 
frankness  that  he  could  not  doubt  her. 

"No,"  he  repeated.  "I  see  that  no  one  has.  I 
only  asked  because  people  are  always  so  ready  to 
talk  about  what  they  cannot  understand,  and  are 
generally  so  perfectly  certain  about  what  they  do 


62  MARION   DARCHE. 

not  know.  I  thought  Dolly  Maylands  might  have 
been  chattering." 

"Dolly  does  not  talk  about  you,  John." 

"Oh!  I  wonder  why  not.  Does  she  dislike  me 
especially  —  I  mean  more  than  most  people  —  more 
than  you  do,  for  instance?" 

" John ! " 

"  My  dear,  do  not  imagine  that  it  grieves  me, 
though  it  certainly  does  not  make  life  more 
agreeable  to  be  disliked.  On  the  whole,  I  hardly 
know  which  I  prefer  —  my  father's  perpetual  out- 
spoken praise,  or  your  dutiful  and  wifely  hatred." 

"Why  do  you  talk  like  that?" 

Mrs.  Darche  did  not  leave  her  writing-table,  but 
turned  in  her  chair  and  faced  him,  still  holding 
her  pen. 

"I  fancy  there  is  some  truth  in  what  I  say," 
he  answered  calmly.  "Of  course  you  know  that 
you  made  a  mistake  when  you  married  me.  You 
were  never  in  love  with  me  —  and  you  did  not 
marry  me  for  my  money." 

He  laughed  rather  harshly. 

"No,  I  did  not  marry  you  for  your  money." 


MARION   DARCHE.  63 

"  Of  course  not.     You  have  some  of  your  own  — 

• 
enough  —  " 

"And  to  spare,  if  you  needed  it,  John." 

"  You  are  very  kind,  my  dear,"  replied  Darche 
with  a  scarcely  perceptible  touch  of  contempt  in 
his  tone.  "I  shall  survive  without  borrowing 
money  of  my  wife." 

"  I  hope  you  may  never  need  to  borrow  of  any 
one,"  said  Marion. 

She  turned  to  the  table  again  and  began  arranging 
a  few  scattered  notes  and  papers  to  conceal  her 
annoyance  at  his  tone,  hoping  that  her  inoffensive 
answer  might  soon  have  the  effect  of  sending  him 
away,  as  was  usually  the  case.  But  Darche  was 
not  quite  in  his  ordinary  state.  He  was  tired, 
irritable,  and  greedy  for  opposition,  as  men  are 
whose  nerves  are  overwrought  and  who  do  not 
realise  the  fact,  because  they  are  not  used  to  it, 
and  it  is  altogether  new  to  them. 

"I  am  tired  of  'yea,  yea.'  Change  the  con- 
versation, please,  and  say  'nay,  nay.'  It  would 
make  a  little  variety." 

"  Do  you  object  to  my  agreeing  with  you  ?  I 
am  sorry.  It  is  not  always  easy  to  guess  what 


64  MAKION   D  ARC  HE. 

you  would  like.  I  am  quite  ready  to  give  up 
trying,,  if  you  say  so.  We  can  easily  arrange  our 
lives  differently,  if  you  prefer  it." 

"  How  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  We  might  separate,  for  instance,"  suggested 
Mrs.  Darche. 

John  was  surprised.  He  had  sometimes  wondered 
whether  it  were  not  altogether  impossible  to  irritate 
his  wife's  calm  temper  to  some  open  expression 
of  anger.  He  had  almost  succeeded,  but  he  by 
no  means  liked  the  form  of  retort  she  had  chosen. 
A  separation  would  not  have  suited  him  at  all, 
for  in  his  character  the  love  of  his  possessions  was 
strong,  and  he  looked  upon  his  wife  as  an  important 
item  in  the  inventory  of  his  personal  property. 
He  hesitated  a  moment  before  he  answered. 

"  Of  course  we  might  separate,  but  I  do  not 
intend  that  we  should  —  if  I  can  help  it,"  he 
added,  as  though  an  afterthought  had  occurred  to 
him. 

"  You  are  not  doing  your  best  to  prevent  it," 
answered  Mrs.  Darche. 

"  Oh !  —  what  are  my  sins  ?  Are  you  jealous  ? 
This  begins  to  interest  me." 


MARION   DARCHE.  65 

"No,  1  am  not  jealous,  you  have  never  given 
me  any  cause  to  be." 

"  You  think  that  incompatibility  of  temper 
would  be  sufficient  ground,  then?" 

"  For  a  temporary  separation  —  yes." 

"  Ah  —  it  is  to  be  only  temporary  ?  How  good 
you  are  I" 

"It  can  be  permanent,  if  you  like." 

"I  have  already  told  you  that  I  have  no  idea 
of  separating.  I  cannot  imagine  why  you  go  back 
to  it  as  you  do." 

"  You  drive  me  back  to  it.' 

"  You  are  suddenly  developing  a  temper.  This 
is  delightful." 

Mrs.  Darche  made  no  answer,  but  occupied 
herself  with  her  papers  in  silence.  She  could 
hardly  account  for  the  humour  in  which  she  was 
answering  her  husband,  seeing  that  for  years  she 
had  listened  to  his  disagreeable  and  brutal  sayings 
without  retort.  It  is  impossible  to  foresee  the 
precise  moment  at  which  the  worm  will  turn, 
the  beast  refuse  its  load,  and  the  human  heart 
revolt.  Sometimes  it  never  comes  at  all,  and  then 
we  call  the  sufferer  a  coward.  After  a  pause 


66  MARION   DARCHE. 

which  lasted  several  minutes,  John  renewed  the 
attack. 

"I  am  sorry  you  will  not  quarrel  any  more,  it 
was  so  refreshing,"  he  said. 

"I  do  not  like  quarrelling,"  answered  Marion, 
without  looking  up.  "What  good  can  it  do?" 

"  You  are  always  wanting  to  do  good !  Life 
without  contrasts  is  very  insipid." 

Mrs.  Darche  rose  from  her  seat  and  came  and 
stood  by  the  fireplace. 

"  John,"  she  said,  "  something  has  happened. 
You  are  not  like  yourself.  If  I  can  be  of  any  use 
to  you,  tell  me  the  truth  and  I  will  do  all  I  can. 
If  not,  go  and  ride  as  you  said  you  would.  The 
fresh  air  will  rest  you." 

"You  are  a  good  creature,  my  dear,"  said 
Darche  looking  at  her  curiously. 

"I  do  not  know  whether  you  mean  to  be  flat- 
tering, or  whether  you  wish  to  go  on  with  this 
idle  bickering  over  words  —  you  know  that  I  do 
not  like  to  be  called  a  good  creature,  like  the 
washerwoman  or  the  cook.  Yes  —  I  know  —  I  am 
angry  just  now.  Never  mind,  my  advice  is  good. 
Either  go  out  at  once,  or  tell  me  just  what  is  the 


MARION   DARCHE.  67 

matter  and  let  me  do  the  best  I  can  to  help 
you." 

"There  is  nothing  to  tell,  my  dear." 

"Then  go  out,  or  go  and  talk  to  your  father  — 
or  stay  here,  and  I  will  go  away." 

"  Anything  rather  than  stay  together,"  suggested 
Darche. 

"Yes  —  anything  rather  than  that.  I  daresay  it 
is  my  fault,  and  I  am  quite  willing  to  bear  all  the 
blame,  but  if  we  are  together  in  the  same  room 
much  longer  we  shall  do  something  which  we 
shall  regret  —  at  least  I  shall.  I  am  sure  of  it." 

"  That  would  be  very  unfortunate,"  said  Darche, 
rising,  with  a  short  laugh.  "  Our  life  has  been  so 
exceptionally  peaceful  since  we  were  married ! " 

"I  think  it  has,"  answered  Marion,  calmly, 
"considering  your  character  and  mine.  On  the 
whole  we  have  kept  the  peace  very  well.  It  has 
certainly  not  been  what  I  expected  and  hoped 
that  it  might  be,  but  it  has  not  been  so  unhappy 
as  that  of  many  people  I  know.  We  both  made 
a  mistake,  perhaps,  but  others  have  made  worse 
ones.  You  ask  why  I  married  you.  I  believe 
that  I  loved  you.  But  I  might  ask  you  the  same 
question." 


68  MARION  DARCHE. 

"You   would   get   very  much   the  same  answer." 

"  Oh  no  —  you  never  loved  me.  I  cannot  even 
say  that  you  have  changed  much  in  five  years, 
since  our  honeymoon.  You  did  not  encourage 
my  illusions  very  long." 

"No.     Why  should  I?" 

"I  daresay  you  were  right.  I  daresay  that  it 
has  been  best  so.  The  longer  one  has  loved 
a  thing,  the  harder  it  is  to  part  from  it.  I  loved 
my  illusions.  As  for  you  —  " 

"  As  for  me,  I  loved  you,  as  I  understand  love," 
said  Darche  walking  up  and  down  the  room  with 
his  hands  in  his  pockets.  "  And,  what  is  more, 
as  I  understand  love,  I  love  you  still." 

"Love  cannot  be  a  very  serious  matter  with 
you,  then,"  answered  Marion,  turning  from  him 
to  the  fire  and  pushing  back  a  great  log  with 
her  foot. 

"  You  are  mistaken,"  returned  Darche.  "  Love 
is  a  serious  matter,  but  not  half  so  serious  as 
young  girls  are  inclined  to  believe.  Is  it  not 
a  matter  of  prime  importance  to  select  carefully 
the  woman  who  is  to  sit  opposite  to  one  at  table 
for  a  lifetime,  and  whose  voice  one  must  hear 


MARION   DARCHE.  69 

every  day  for  forty  years  or  so  ?  Of  course  it  is 
serious.  It  is  like  selecting  the  president  of  a 
company  —  only  that  you  cannot  turn  him  out 
and  choose  another  when  you  are  not  pleased 
with  him.  Love  is  not  a  wild,  insane  longing 
to  be  impossibly  dramatic  at  every  hour  of  the 
day.  Love  is  natural  selection.  Darwin  says  so. 
Now  a  sensible  man  of  business  like  me,  naturally 
selects  a  sensible  woman  like  you  to  be  the  mis- 
tress of  his  household.  That  is  all  it  comes  to, 
in  the  end.  There  is  no  essential  difference 
between  a  man's  feeling  for  the  woman  he  loves 
and  his  feeling  for  anything  else  he  wants." 

"  And   I    fill   the   situation    admirably.      Is   that 
what  you  mean?"  inquired  Marion  with  some  scorn. 
"  If  you  choose  to  put  it  in  that  way." 
"And  that  is  what  you  call  being  loved?" 
"  Yes  —  being  wanted.     It   comes   to   that.     All 
the  rest  is   illusion  —  dream-stuff,    humbug,    '  fake ' 
if  you  do  not  object  to  Bowery  slang." 

"Are    you    going    out?"    asked     Mrs.     Darche, 
losing  patience  altogether. 

"No.     But  I  am  going  upstairs   to  see   the   old 
gentleman.     It  is  almost  the  same." 


TO  MARION   DARCHE. 

He  went  towards  the  door  and  his  hand  was 
on  the  handle  of  the  lock  when  she  called  him 
back. 

"  John  —  "  there  was  hesitation  in  her  voice. 

"  Well  ?  What  is  the  matter  ?  "  He  came  back 
a  few  steps  and  stood  near  her. 

"John,  did  you  never  care  for  me  in  any  other 
way  —  in  any  better  way  —  from  the  heart  ?  You 
used  to  say  that  you  did." 

"  Did  I  ?  I  have  forgotten.  One  always  sup- 
poses that  young  girls  naturally  expect  one  to 
talk  a  lot  of  nonsense,  and  that  one  has  no  choice 
unless  one  does  —  so  one  makes  the  best  of  it. 
I  remember  that  it  was  a  bore  to  make  phrases 
so  I  probably  made  them.  Anything  else  you 
would  like  to  ask  ?  " 

"  No  —  thanks.     I  would  rather  be  alone." 

John  Darche  left  the  room  and  Marion  returned 
to  her  writing-table  as  though  nothing  had  been 
said,  intending  to  write  her  notes  as  usual.  And 
indeed,  she  began,  and  the  pen  ran  easily  across 
the  paper  for  a  few  moments. 

Then  on  a  sudden,  her  lip  quivered,  she  wrote 
one  more  word,  the  pen  fell  from  her  fingers,  and 


MARION  DARCHE.  71 

bowing  her  head  upon  the  edge  of  the  table  she 
let  the  short,  sharp  sobs  break  out  as  they  would. 
She  was  a  very  lonely  woman  on  that  winter's 
afternoon,  and  the  tension  she  had  kept  on  herself 
had  been  too  great  to  bear  any  longer. 


CHAPTER    IV. 

IN  spite  of  her  husband's  denial,  Marion  Darche 
was  convinced  that  he  was  in  difficulties,  though 
she  could  not  understand  how  such  a  point  could 
have  been  reached  in  the  affairs  of  the  Company, 
which  had  always  been  considered  so  solid,  and 
which  had  the  reputation  of  being  managed  so 
well.  It  was  natural,  when  matters  reached  a 
crisis,  that  none  of  her  acquaintances  should 
speak  to  her  of  her  husband's  troubles,  and  many 
said  that  Mrs.  Darche  was  a  brave  woman  to  face 
the  world  as  she  did  when  her  husband  was  in 
all  likelihood  already  ruined  and  was  openly 
accused  on  all  sides  of  something  very  like  swin- 
dling. But  as  a  matter  of  fact  she  was  in  com- 
plete ignorance  of  all  this.  John  Darche  laughed 
scornfully  when  she  repeated  her  question,  and 
she  had  never  even  thought  of  asking  the  old 
gentleman  any  questions.  She  was  too  proud  to 
speak  of  her  troubles  to  Vanbrugh  or  Brett;  and 

72 


MAEION    DARCHE.  73 

Dolly,  foreseeing  real  trouble,  thought  it  best  to 
hide  from  her  friend  the  fears  she  entertained. 
As  sometimes  happens  in  such  cases,  matters  had 
gone  very  far  without  Mrs.  Darche's  knowledge. 
The  Company  was  in  hands  of  a  receiver  and 
an  inquiry  into  the  conduct  of  Simon  and  John 
Darche  was  being  pushed  forward  with  the  utmost 
energy  by  the  frightened  holders  of  the  bonds 
and  shares,  while  Marion  was  dining  and  dancing 
through  tKe  winter  season  as  usual.  The  Darches 
were  accused  of  having  issued  an  enormous 
amount  of  stock  without  proper  authority;  but 
there  were  many  who  said  that  Simon  Darche 
was  innocent  of  the  trick,  and  that  John  had 
manufactured  bogus  certificates.  Others  again 
maintained  that  Simon  Darche  was  in  his  dotage 
and  signed  whatever  was  put  before  him  by  his 
son,  without  attempting  to  understand  the  obli- 
gations to  which  he  committed  himself. 

Meanwhile  John's  position  became  desperate, 
though  he  himself  did  not  believe  it  to  be  so 
utterly  hopeless  as  it  really  was.  Since  this  is 
the  story  of  Marion  Darche  and  not  of  her 
husband,  it  is  unnecessary  to  enter  into  the 

12— Vol.  9 


74  MARION    DARCHE. 

financial  details  of  the  latter's  ruin.  It  is  enough 
to  say  that  for  personal  ends  he  had  made  use  of 
the  Company's  funds  in  order  to  get  into  his  own 
control  a  line  of  railroad  by  which  a  large  part 
of  the  Company's  produce  was  transported,  with 
the  intention  of  subsequently  forcing  the  Company 
to  buy  the  road  of  him  on  his  own  terms,  as 
soon  as  he  should  have  disposed  by  stealth  of 
his  interest  in  the  manufacture.  Had  the  scheme 
succeeded  he  should  have  realised  a  great  fortune 
by  the  transaction,  and  it  is  doubtful  whether 
anything  could  have  been  proved  against  him 
after  the  event.  Unfortunately  for  him,  he  had 
come  into  collision  with  a  powerful  syndicate  of 
which  he  had  not  suspected  the  existence  until 
he  had  gone  so  far  that  either  to  go  on  or  to 
retire  must  be  almost  certain  ruin  and  exposure. 
The  existence  of  this  syndicate  had  dawned  upon 
him  on  the  day  described  in  the  preceding 
chapters,  and  the  state  of  mind  in  which  he 
found  himself  was  amply  accounted  for  by  the 
discovery  he  had  made. 

As   time   went    on  during   the   following   weeks, 
and    he    became     more    and     more     hopelessly    in- 


MARION   DARCHE.  75 

volved,  his  appearance  and  his  manner  changed 
for  the  worse.  He  grew  haggard  and  thin,  and 
his  short  speeches  to  his  wife  lacked  even  that 
poor  element  of  wit  which  is  brutality's  last  hold 
upon  good  manners.  With  his  father,  however, 
he  maintained  his  usual  behaviour,  by  a  desperate 
effort.  He  could  not  afford  to  allow  the  whole 
fabric  of  the  old  gentleman's  illusions  about  him 
to  perish,  so  long  as  Simon  Darche's  hand  and 
name  could  still  be  useful.  It  is  but  just  to 
admit,  too,  that  he  felt  a  sort  of  cynical,  pitying 
attachment  to  his  father  —  the  affection  which  a 
spoiled  child  bestows  upon  an  over-indulgent 
parent,  which  is  strongly  tinged  with  the  vanity 
excited  by  a  long  course  of  unstinted  and  indis- 
criminating  praise. 

If  Marion  Darche's  own  fortune  had  been 
invested  in  the  Company  of  which  her  husband 
was  treasurer,  she  must  have  been  made  aware 
of  the  condition  of  things  long  before  the  final 
day  of  reckoning  came.  But  her  property  had 
been  left  her  in  the  form  of  real  estate,  and  the 
surplus  had  been  invested  in  such  bonds  and 
mortgages  as  had  been  considered  absolutely  safe 


76  MAKION    DARCHE. 

by  Harry  Brett's  father,  who  had  originally  been 
her  guardian,  and,  after  his  death,  by  Harry  Brett 
himself,  who  was  now  her^  legal  adviser,  and 
managed  her  business  for  her.  The  house  in 
Lexington  Avenue  was  her  property.  After  her 
marriage  she  had  persuaded  her  husband  to  live 
in  it  rather  than  in  the  somewhat  pretentious 
and  highly  inconvenient  mansion  erected  on  Fifth 
Avenue  by  Simon  Darche  in  the  early  days  of 
his  great  success,  which  was  decorated  within, 
and  to  some  extent  without,  according  to  the 
doubtful  taste  of  the  late  Mrs.  Simon  Darche. 
Vanbrugh  compared  it  to  an  "inflamed  Pullman 
car." 

Enough  has  been  said  to  show  how  at  the 
time,  the  Darches  were  on  the  verge  of  utter 
ruin,  and  how  Marion  Darche  was  financially  in- 
dependent. Meanwhile  the  old  gentleman's  mind 
was  failing  fast,  a  fact  which  was  so  apparent 
that  Marion  was  not  at  all  surprised  when  her 
husband  told  her  that  there  was  to  be  a  con- 
sultation of  doctors  to  inquire  into  the  condi- 
tion of  Simon  Darche,  with  a  view  to  deciding 
whether  he  was  fit  to  remain,  even  nominally, 


MABION    DABCHB.  77 

at  the  head  of  the  Company  or  not.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  the  consultation  had  become  a 
legal  necessity,  enforced  by  the  committee  that  was 
examining  the  Company's  affairs. 

John  Darche  was  making  a  desperate  fight 
of  it,  sacrificing  everything  upon  which  he 
could  lay  his  hands  in  order  to  buy  in  the 
fraudulent  certificates  of  stock.  He  was  con- 
stantly in  want  of  money,  and  seized  every 
opportunity  of  realising  a  few  thousands  which 
presented  itself,  even  descending  to  gambling 
in  the  stock  market  in  the  hope  of  picking  up 
more  cash.  He  was  unlucky,  of  course,  and 
margin  after  margin  disappeared  and  was  swal- 
lowed up.  From  time  to  time  he  made  something 
by  his  speculations  —  just  enough  to  revive  his 
shrinking  hopes,  and  to  whet  his  eagerness, 
already  sharpened  by  extremest  anxiety.  He  did 
not  think  of  escaping  from  the  country,  however. 
In  the  first  place,  if  he  disappeared  at  this 
juncture,  he  must  be  a  beggar  or  dependent  on 
his  wife's  charity.  Secondly,  he  could  not  realise 
that  the  end  was  so  near  and  that  the  game 
was  played  out  to  the  last  card.  Still  he 


78  MARION   DARCHE. 

struggled  on  frantically,  hoping  for  a  turn  of 
the  market,  for  a  windfall  out  of  the  unknown, 
for  a  wave  of  luck,  whereby  a  great  sum  being 
suddenly  thrown  into  his  hands  he  should  be 
able  to  cover  up  the  traces  of  his  misdeeds  and 
begin  life  afresh. 

Marion  was  as  brave  as  ever,  but  she  got  even 
more  credit  for  her  courage  than  she  really 
deserved.  She  knew  at  this  time  that  the 
trouble  was  great,  but  she  had  no  idea  that  it 
was  altogether  past  mending,  and  she  had  not 
renewed  the  offer  of  help  she  had  made  to  her 
husband  when  she  had  first  noticed  his  distress. 
In  the  meantime,  she  devoted  herself  to  the  care 
of  old  Simon  Darche.  She  read  aloud  to  him  in 
the  morning,  though  she  was  quite  sure  that  he 
rarely  followed  a  single  sentence  to  the  end. 
She  drove  with  him  in  the  afternoon  and  listened 
patiently  to  his  rambling  comments  on  men  and 
things.  His  inability  to  recognise  many  of  the 
persons  who  had  been  most  familiar  to  him  in 
the  earlier  part  of  his  life  was  becoming  very 
apparent,  and  the  constant  mistakes  he  made 
rendered  it  advisable  to  keep  him  out  of  inter- 


MARION   DARCHB.  79 

course  with  any  but  the  members  of  his  own 
family.  As  has  been  said,  Mrs.  Darche  had  not 
as  yet  made  any  change  in  her  social  existence, 
but  Dolly  Maylands,  who  knew  more  of  the  true 
state  of  affairs  than  her  friend,  .came  to  see  her 
every  day  and  grew  anxious  in  the  anticipation 
of  the  inevitable  disaster.  Her  fresh  face  grew 
a  little  paler  and  showed  traces  of  nervousness. 
She  felt  perhaps  as  men  do  who  lead  a  life  of 
constant  danger.  She  slept  as  well  and  became 
almost  abnormally  active,  seizing  feverishly  upon 
everything  and  every  subject  which  could  help 
to  occupy  her  time. 

"You  work  too  hard,  Dolly,"  said  Mrs.  Darche 
one  morning  as  they  were  seated  together  iji  the 
library.  "  You  will  wear  yourself  out.  You  have 
danced  all  night,  and  now  you  mean  to  spend 
your  day  in  slaving  at  your  charities." 

Dolly  laughed  a  little  as  she  went  on  cutting 
the  pages  of  the  magazine  she  held.  This  was  a 
thing  Mrs.  Darche  especially  disliked  doing,  and 
Dolly  had  long  ago  taken  upon  herself  the 
responsibility  of  cutting  all  new  books  and 
reviews  which  entered  the  house. 


80  MABION  DAECHB. 

"Oh  I  love  to  burn  the  candle  at  both  ends,* 
she  answered. 

"No  doubt  you  do,  my  dear.  We  have  all 
liked  to  do  that  at  one  time  or  another.  But  at 
this  rate  you  will  light  your  candle  in  the  middle, 
too." 

"  You  cannot  light  a  candle  in  the  middle,"  said 
Dolly  with  great  decision. 

"  If  anybody  could,  you  could,"  said  Marion, 
watching  her  as  she  had  often  done  of  late  and 
wondering  if  any  change  had  come  into  the  young 
girl's  life.  "Seriously,  my  dear,  I  am  anxious 
about  you.  I  wish  you  would  take  care  of 
yourself,  or  get  married,  or  something." 

"  If  you  will  tell  me  what  that  '  something '  is 
I  will  get  it  at  once,"  said  Dolly,  with  a  smile  that 
had  a  tinge  of  sadness  in  it.  "I  ask  nothing 
better." 

"  Oh  anything !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Darche.  "  Get 
nervous  prostration  or  anything  that  is  thoroughly 
fashionable  and  gives  no  trouble,  and  then  go 
somewhere  and  rest  for  a  month." 

"My  dear  child,"  cried  Dolly  with  a  laugh,  "I 
cannot  think  of  being  so  old-fashioned  as  to  have 


MARION   DARCHB.  '81 

nervous  prostration.  Let  me  see.  I  might  be 
astigmatic.  That  seems  to  be  the  proper  thing 
nowadays.  Then  I  could  wear  glasses  and  look 
the  character  of  the  school-ma'am.  Then  I  could 
say  I  could  not  dance  because  I  could  not  see, 
because  of  course  I  could  not  dance  in  spectacles. 
But  for  the  matter  of  that,  my  dear,  you  need 
not  lecture  me.  You  are  as  bad  as  I  am,  and 
much  worse  —  yours  is  a  much  harder  life  than 
mine." 

Just  as  Dolly  was  about  to  draw  a  comparison 
between  her  own  existence  and  her  friend's,  the 
door  opened  and  Stubbs  entered  the  room  bearing 
a  dozen  enormous  roses,  of  the  kind  known  as 
American  beauties.  Dolly,  who  had  a  passion 
for  flowers,  sprang  up,  and  seized  upon  them  with 
an  exclamation  of  delight. 

"  What  beauties !  What  perfect  beauties !  "  she 
said.  "  You  lucky  creature  !  Who  in  the  world 
sends  you  such  things  ?  " 

Mrs.  Darche  had  risen  from  her  seat  and  had 
buried  her  face  in  the  thick  blossoms  while  Dolly 
held  them. 

"I  am  sure  I  do  not  know,"  she  said. 


82  MARION   DARCHE. 

"  Oh  Marion  !  "  answered  Dolly,  smiling.  "  In- 
nocence always  was  your  strong  point,  and  what 
a  strong  point  it  is.  I  wish  people  would  send 
me  flowers  like  these." 

"I  have  no  doubt  they  do,  my  dear.  Do  not 
pretend  they  do  not.  Come  and  help  me  arrange 
them  instead  of  talking  nonsense.  Even  if  it 
were  true  that  my  life  is  harder  than  yours — I  do 
not  know  why  —  you  see  there  are  alleviations." 

Dolly  did  not  answer  at  once.  She  was 
wondering  just  how  much  her  friend  knew  of 
the  actual  state  of  things,  and  she  was  surprised 
to  feel  a  little  touch  of  pain  when  she  contrasted 
the  truth,  so  far  as  she  knew  it,  with  the  neg- 
atively blissful  ignorance  in  which  Mrs.  Darche's 
nearest  and  best  friends  were  doing  their  best  to 
keep  her. 

"  Of  course  there  are  alleviations  in  your  life, 
just  as  there  are  in  mine,"  she  said  at  last, 
"changes,  contrasts  and  all  that  sort  of  thing. 
My  kindergarten  alleviates  my  dancing  and  my 
cotillons  vary  the  dulness  of  my  school  teaching." 

She  paused  and  continued  to  arrange  the  flowers 
in  silence,  looking  back  now  and  then  and  glancing 


MARION  DARCHE.  83 

at  them.  Mrs.  Darche  did  not  speak,  but  watched 
her  idly,  taking  a  certain  artistic  pleasure  in  the 
fitness  of  the  details  which  made  up  the  little 
picture  before  her. 

"But  I  would  not  lead  your  life  for  anything  in 
the  world,"  added  Dolly  at  last  with  great  decision. 

"  Oh,  nonsense,  Dolly ! " 

"Are  you  happy,  Marion?"  asked  Dolly,  sud- 
denly growing  very  grave. 

"Happy?"  repeated  Mrs.  Darche,  a  little  sur- 
prised by  the  sudden  question.  "Yes,  why  not? 
What  do  you  mean  by  happy?" 

"What  everybody  means,  I  suppose." 

"What  is  that?" 

"  Why,  wanting  things  and  getting  them,  of 
course  —  wanting  a  ten  cent  thing  a  dollar's 
worth,  and  having  it." 

"  What  a  definition ! "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Darche. 
"  But  I  really  do  believe  you  enjoy  your  life." 

"  Though  it  would  bore  you  to  extinction." 

"Possibly.  The  alternate  wild  attacks  of  teach- 
ing and  flirting  to  which  you  are  subject  would 
probably  not  agree  with  me." 

"Perhaps  you  could  do  either,  but  not  both  at 
the  same  time." 


84  MARION  DARCHE. 

"I  suppose  I  could  teach  if  I  knew  anything,'* 
said  Mrs.  Darche  thoughtfully.  "But  I  do  not,'* 
she  added  with  conviction. 

"And  I  have  no  doubt  you  could  flirt  if  you 
loved  anybody.  It  is  a  pity  you  do  not." 

"  Oh,  my  flirting  days  are  over,"  answered 
Marion  laughing.  "You  seem  to  forget  that  I 
am  married." 

"  Do  you  not  forget  it  sometimes  ?  "  asked  Dolly, 
laughing,  but  with  less  genuine  mirth. 

"  Do  not  be  silly ! "  exclaimed  Marion  with  a 
slight  shade  of  annoyance--  She  had  been  helping 
Dolly  with  the  roses,  all  of  which,  with  the 
exception  of  two,  were  now  arranged  in  a  vase. 

"  These  will  not  go  in,"  she  said,  holding  up  the 
remaining  flowers.  "You  might  stick  them  into 
that  little  silver  cup." 

"To  represent  you — and  the  other  man.  A 
red  and  a  white  rose.  Is  that  it?" 

"  Or  you  and  me,"  suggested  Mrs.  Darche  in 
perfect  innocence.  "  Why  not  ?  " 

"Tell  me,"  said  Dolly,  when  they  had  finished, 
"who  is  he?" 

"Why,  Russell  Vanbrugh,  of  course." 


MARION   DARCHE.  85 

"  Oh ! "  exclaimed  Dolly,  turning  her  head  away. 
"Why  of  course?" 

"Oh,  because  —  " 

"Why  not  Harry  Brett?"  asked  Dolly,  with 
the  merciless  insistence  peculiar  to  very  young 
people. 

In  all  probability,  if  no  interruption  had  occurred, 
the  conversation  of  that  morning  would  have 
taken  a  more  confidential  turn  than  usual,  and 
poor  Dolly  might  then  and  there  have  satisfied 
her  curiosity  in  regard  to  the  relations  between 
Marion  and  Russell  Vanbrugh. 

It  would  be  more  correct,  perhaps,  to  use  a 
word  of  less  definite  meaning  than  relation. 
Dolly  suspected  indeed  that  Vanbrugh  loved 
Mrs.  Darche  in  his  own  quiet  and  undemonstra- 
tive fashion,  and  that  this  was  the  secret  of  his 
celibacy.  She  believed  it  possible,  too,  that  her 
friend  might  be  more  deeply  attached  to  Van- 
brugh than  she  was  willing  to  acknowledge  even 
in  her  own  heart.  But  she  was  absolutely  con- 
vinced that  whatever  the  two  might  feel  for 
one  another  their  feelings  would  remain  for  ever 
a  secret.  She  had  gone  further  than  usual 


86  MARION   DARCHE. 

in  asking  Marion  whether  she  were  happy,  and 
whether  she  had  not  at  some  time  or  another 
almost  forgotten  that  she  was  married  at  all. 
And  Marion  had  not  resented  the  words.  Dolly 
felt  that  she  was  on  the  very  point  of  getting 
at  the  truth,  and  was  hoping  that  she  might 
be  left  alone  half-an-hour  longer  with  her  friend, 
when  the  door  opened  and  Simon  Darche  entered 
the  room.  At  the  sight  of  the  two  young 
women  his  pink  silk  face  lighted  up  with 
a  bright  smile.  He  rubbed  his  hands,  and  the 
vague  expression  of  his  old  blue  eyes  gave  place 
to  a  look  of  recognition,  imaginary,  it  is  true, 
but  evidently  a  source  of  pleasure  to  himself. 

"  Good  morning,  my  dear,"  he  said  briskly, 
taking  Marion's  hand  in  both  of  his  and  pressing 
it  affectionately.  "  Good  morning,  Mrs.  Chilton," 
he  added,  smiling  at  Dolly. 

"  Dolly  Maylands,"  suggested  Marion  in  an 
undertone. 

"  Dolly  ?  Dolly  ?  "  repeated  the  old  man. 
"  Yes,  yes  —  what  did  you  say  ?  What  did  you 
say,  Marion?  Dolly  Chilton?  Silly  child.  Dolly 
Chilton  has  been  dead  these  twenty  years." 


MARION   DARCHB.  87 

"  What  does  he  mean  ? "  asked  Dolly  in  a 
whisper.  Simon  Darche  turned  upon  her  rather 
suddenly. 

"  Oh  yes,  I  remember,"  he  said.  "  You  are  the 
little  girl  who  used  to  talk  about  Darwin,  and 
the  soul,  'and  monkeys  without  tails,  and  steam 
engines,  when  you  were  seven  years  old.  Why, 
my  dear  child,  I  know  you  very  well  indeed. 
How  long  have  you  been  married?" 

"I  am  not  married,"  answered  the  young  girl, 
suppressing  a  smile. 

"  Why  not  ? "  inquired  Mr.  Darche  with  start- 
ling directness.  "  But  then  —  oh,  yes  !  I  am  very 
sorry,  my  dear.  I  did  not  mean  to  allude  to  it. 
I  went  to  poor  Chilton's  funeral." 

Just  then,  Stubbs,  the  butler,  entered  again, 
bearing  this  time  a  note  for  Mrs.  Darche.  While 
she  glanced  at  the  contents  he  waited  near  the 
door  in  obedience  to  a  gesture  from  her.  Old 
Mr.  Darche  immediately  went  up  to  him,  and 
with  hearty  cordiality  seized  and  shook  his  reluc- 
tant hand. 

"  Happy  to  meet  you,  old  fellow ! "  he  cried. 
"  That  is  all  right.  Now  just  sit  down  here  and 


88  MARION    DARCHE. 

we  will  go  through  the  question  in  five  min- 
utes." 

"  Beg  pardon,  sir,"  said  the  impassive  butler. 
It  was  not  the  first  time  that  his  master  had 
taken  him  for  an  old  friend. 

"Eh,  what !"  cried  Simon  Darche.  "Calling  me 
'sir'?  Did  you  come  here  to  quarrel  with  me,  old 
man?  Oh,  I  see!  You  are  laughing.  Well  come 
along.  This  business  will  not  keep.  The  ladies 
will  not  mind  if  we  go  to  work,  I  daresay." 

And  forthwith  he  dragged  Stubbs  to  a  table 
and  forced  him  into  a  chair,  talking  to  him  all 
the  time.  Dolly  was  startled  and  grasped  Marion's 
arm. 

"  What  is  it  ? "  she  asked  under  her  breath. 
"Oh,  Marion,  what  is  it?  Is  he  quite  mad?" 

Mrs.  Darche  -  answered  her  only  by  a  warning 
look,  and  then,  turning  away,  seemed  to  hesitate 
a  moment.  Stubbs  was  suffering  acutely,  submit- 
ting to  sit  on  the  edge  of  the  chair  to  which 
his  master  had  pushed  him,  merely  because  no 
means  of  escape  suggested  itself  to  his  mechan- 
ical intelligence. 

"Why    can    you    not    sit    down    comfortably?" 


MARION   DARCHB.  89 

asked  Mr.  Darche,  with  a  show  of  temper. 
"You  are  not  in  a  hurry,  I  know.  Oh  I  see, 
you  are  cold.  Well,  warm  yourself.  Cold  morn- 
ing. It  will  be  warm  enough  in  Wall  Street 
to-morrow,  if  we  put  this  thing  through.  Now 
just  let  me  explain  the  position  to  you.  I  tell 
you  we  are  stronger  than  anybody  thinks. 
Yes  sir.  I  do  not  see  any  limit  to  what  we 
may  do." 

Marion  took  a  flower  from  one  of  the  vases 
and  went  up  to  the  old  gentleman. 

"  Just  let  me  put  this  rose  in  your  coat, 
before  you  go  to  work." 

Mr.  Darche  turned  towards  her  as  she  spoke, 
and  his  attention  was  diverted.  With  a  serio- 
comic expression  of  devout  thankfulness,  Stubbs 
rose  and  noiselessly  glided  from  the  room. 

"Thank  you,  thank  you,"  said  the  old  gentle- 
man, and  as  he  bent  to  smell  the  blossom, 
his  head  dropped  forward  rather  helplessly.  "  I 
was  always  fond  of  flowers." 

The  note  which  Stubbs  had  brought  conveyed 
the  information  that  the  three  doctors  who  were 
to  examine  old  Mr.  Darche  with  a  view  of 


90  MARION   DARCHE. 

ascertaining  whether  he  could  properly  be  held 
responsible  for  his  actions,  would  come  in  half 
an  hour.  It  was  now  necessary  to  prepare  him 
for  the  visit,  and  Marion  had  not  decided  upon 
any  plan. 

It  was  evidently  out  of  the  question  to 
startle  him  by  letting  him  .suspect  the  truth, 
or  even  by  telling  him  that  his  visitors  belonged 
to  the  medical  profession.  Mrs.  Darche  wished 
that  she  might  have  the  chance  of  consulting 
Dolly  alone  for  a  moment  before  the  doctors 
came,  but  this  seemed  equally  impossible.  She 
silently  handed  the  note  to  her  friend  to  read 
and  began  talking  to  the  old  gentleman  again. 
He  answered  at  random  almost  everything  she 
said.  It  was  clear  that  he  was  growing  rapidly 
worse  and  that  his  state  was  changing  from 
day  to  day.  Marion,  of  course,  did  not  know 
that  the  medical  examination  was  to  be  held 
by  .order  of  the  committee  conducting  the 
inquiry  into  the  Company's  affairs.  Her  husband 
had  simply  told  her  what  she  already  knew, 
namely,  that  his  father  was  no  longer  able 
to  attend  to  business  and  that  the  fact  must 


MARION  DABCHB.  91 

be  recognised  and  a  new  president  elected. 
It  would  be  quite  possible,  he  thought,  to  leave 
the  old  gentleman  in  the  illusion  that  he  still 
enjoyed  his  position  and  exercised  his  functions. 
There  could  be  no  harm  in  that.  To  tell  him 
the  truth  might  inflict  such  a  shock  upon  his 
faculties  as  would  hasten  their  complete  collapse, 
and  might  even  bring  about  a  fatal  result.  He 
had  impressed  upon  her  the  necessity  of  using 
the  utmost  tact  on  the  occasion  of  the  doctors' 
visit,  but  had  refused  to  be  present  himself, 
arguing,  perhaps  rightly,  that  his  appearance 
could  be  of  no  use,  but  that  it  might,  on  the 
contrary,  tend  to  complicate  a  situation  already 
difficult  enough. 

The  only  course  that  suggested  itself  to  Mrs. 
Darche's  imagination,  was  to  represent  the  three 
doctors  as  men  of  business  who  came  to  consult 
her  father-in-law  upon  an  important  matter.  At 
the  first  mention  of  business,  the  old  gentleman's 
expression  changed  and  his  manner  became  more 
animated. 

"Eh,  business?"  he  cried.  "Oh  yes.  Never 
refuse  to  see  a  man  on  business.  Where  are  they? 


92  MARION   DARCHE. 

Good  morning,  Mrs.  Chilton.  I  am  sorry  I  cannot 
stay,  but  I  have  some  important  business  to  attend 
to." 

He  insisted  upon  going  to  his  study  immediately 
in  order  to  be  ready  to  receive  his  visitors. 

"  Wait  for  me,  Dolly,"  said  Marion,  as  she  fol- 
lowed him. 

Dolly  nodded  and  sat  down  in  her  own  place 
by  the  fireplace,  taking  up  the  magazine  she  had 
begun  to  cut  and  thoughtfully  resuming  her  occu- 
pation. Under  ordinary  circumstances  she  would 
perhaps  have  gone  away  to  occupy  herself  during 
the  morning  in  some  of  the  many  matters  which 
made  her  life  so  full.  But  her  instinct  told  her 
that  there  was  trouble  in  the  air  to-day,  and  that 
the  affairs  of  the  Darches  were  rapidly  coming  to 
a  crisis.  She  liked  difficulties,  as  she  liked  every- 
thing which  needed  energy  and  quickness  of  de- 
cision, and  her  attachment  to  her  friend  would 
alone  have  kept  her  on  the  scene  of  danger. 

Marion  did  not  return  immediately,  and  Dolly 
supposed  that  she  had  determined  to  stay  with 
the  old  gentleman  until  the  doctors  came.  It  was 
rather  pleasant  to  sit  by  the  fire  and  think,  and 


MARION   DABCHB.  93 

wonder,  and  fill  out  the  incidents  of  the  drama 
which  seemed  about  to  be  enacted  in  the  house. 
Dolly  realised  that  she  was  in  the  midst  of  excit- 
ing events  such  as  she  had  sometimes  read  of,  but 
in  which  she  had  never  expected  to  play  a  part. 
There  were  all  the  characters  belonging  to  the 
situation.  There  was  the  beautiful,  neglected 
young  wife,  the  cruel  and  selfish  husband,  the 
broken-down  father,  the  two  young  men  who  had 
formerly  loved  the  heroine,  and  last,  but  not  least, 
there  was  Dolly  herself.  It  was  all  very  interest- 
ing and  very  theatrical,  she  thought,  and  she 
wished  that  she  might  watch  it  or  watch  the  de- 
velopments in  the  successive  scenes,  entirely  as  a 
spectator,  and  without  feeling  what  was  really 
uppermost  in  her  heart  —  a  touch  of  sincere  sym- 
pathy for  her  friend's  trouble. 

Just  as  she  was  thinking  of  all  that  Marion  had 
to  suffer,  John  Darche,  the  prime  cause  and  pro- 
moter of  the  trouble,  entered  the  room,  pale,  ner- 
vous, and  evidently  in  the  worst  of  humours. 

"  Oh,  are  you  here,  Miss  Maylands? "  he  in- 
quired, discontentedly. 

Dolly  looked  up  quietly. 


94  MARION   DARCHE. 

"Yes.  Am  I  in  the  way?  Marion  has  just  gone 
with  Mr.  Darche  to  his  study.  This  note  came  a 
few  moments  ago  and  she  gave  it  to  me  to  read. 
I  think  you  ought  to  see  it." 

John  Darche's  brow  contracted  as  he  ran  his  eye 
over  the  page.  Then  he  slowly  tore  the  note  to 
shreds  and  tossed  them  into  the  fire. 

"  I  do  not  know  why  my  wife  thinks  it  necessary 
to  take  all  her  friends  into  the  confidences  of  the 
family,"  he  said,  thrusting  his  hands  into  his  pockets 
and  going  to  the  window,  thereby  turning  his  back 
upon  Dolly. 

Dolly  made  no  answer  to  the  rude  speech,  but 
quietly  continued  to  cut  the  pages  of  the  magazine, 
until,  seeing  that  Darche  did  not  move  and  being 
herself  rather  nervous,  she  broke  the  silence  again. 

"Am  I  in  the  way,  Mr.  Darche?" 

"Not  at  all,  not  at  all,"  said  John,  waking,  per- 
haps, to  a  sense  of  his  rudeness  and  returning  to  the 
fireplace.  "On  the  contrary,"  he  continued,  "it  is 
as  well  that  you  should  be  here.  There  will  prob- 
ably be  hysterics  during  the  course  of  the  day,  and 
I  have  no  doubt  you  know  what  is  the  right  thing 
to  do  under  the  circumstances.  There  seems  to  be 


MARION   DARCHE.  95 

4 

a  horticultural  show  here,"  he  added,  as  he  noticed 
for  the  first  time  the  vases  of  flowers  on  the 
tables. 

"They  are  beautiful  roses,"  answered  Dolly  in  a 
conciliatory  tone. 

"  Yes,"  said  John,  drawing  in  his  thin  lips. 
"  Beautiful,  expensive  —  and  not  particularly  appro- 
priate to-day.  One  of  my  wife's  old  friends,  I 
suppose.  Do  you  know  who  sent  them?" 

"Stubbs  brought  them  in,  a  little  while  ago," 
Dolly  replied.  "  I  believe  there  was  no  note  with 
them." 

"No  note,"  repeated  John,  still  in  a  tone  of 
discontent.  "It  is  rude  to  send  flowers  without 
even  a  card.  It  is  assuming  too  much  intimacy." 

"Is  it?"  asked  Dolly  innocently. 

"  Of  course  it  is,"  answered  John. 

"  Half  an  hour,"  he  said,  after  a  moment's  pause. 

0 

"Half  an  hour!     How  long   is   it   since   that   note 

came  ?  " 

"About  twenty  minutes  I  should  think." 
"Doctors     are     generally     punctual,"     observed 

Darche.     "They  will  be  here  in  a  few  minutes." 
"  Shall  you  be  present  ?  "  asked  Dolly. 


96  MARION   DARCHE. 

"Certainly  not,"  John  answered  with  decision. 
"It  would  give  me  very  little  satisfaction,  to  see 
my  father  proved  an  idiot  by  three  fools." 

"  Fools !  "  repeated  Dolly  in  surprise. 

"Yes.  All  doctors  are  fools^  The  old  gentle- 
man's head  is  as  clear  as  mine.  What  difference 
does  it  make  if  he  does  not  recognise  people  he 
only  half  knows  ?  He  understands  everything  con- 
nectgd  with  the  business,  and  that  is  the  principal 
thing.  After  all,  what  has  he  to  do?  He  signs 
his  name  to  the  papers  that  are  put  before  him. 
That  is  all.  He  could  do  that  if  he  really  had 
softening  of  the  brain,  as  they  pretend  he  has. 
As  for  electing  another  president  at  the  present 
moment  it  is  out  of  the  question." 

"  Yes,  so  I  should  suppose,"  said  Dolly. 

John  turned  sharply  upon  her. 

"  So  you  should  suppose  ?  Why  should  you 
suppose  any  such  thing?" 

"I  have  heard  that  the  Company  is  in  trouble," 
answered  Dolly,  calmly. 

John  opened  his  lips  as  though  he  were  about 
to  make  a  sharp  answer,  but  checked  himself  and 
turned  away. 


MARION   DARCHE.  97 

"  Yes,"  he  said  more  quietly,  "  I  suppose  that 
news  is  public  property  by  this  time.  There  they 
are,"  he  added,  as  his  ear  caught  the  distant 
tinkle  of  the  door  bell. 

"Shall  I  go?"  asked  Dolly  for  the  third  time. 

"  No,"  answered  Darche,  "  I  will  go  out  and 
meet  them.  Stay  here  please.  I  will  send  my 
wife  to  you  presently." 


13— Vol.  9 


CHAPTER     V. 

THE  verdict  of  the  doctors  was  a  foregone  con- 
clusion. The  family  physician,  who  was  one  of 
the  three,  the  other  two  being  specialists,  stayed 
behind  and  explained  to  John  Darche  the  result 
of  the  examination.  There  was  no  hope  of  re- 
covery, he  said,  nor  even  of  improvement.  The 
most  that  could  be  done  was  to  give  the  old 
gentleman  the  best  of  care  so  long  as  he  remained 
alive.  Little  by  little  his  faculties  would  fail, 
and  in  a  few  years,  if  he  did  not  die,  he  would  be 
quite  as  helpless  as  a  little  child. 

John  Darche  was  not  in  a  state  to  receive  the 
information  with  equanimity,  though  he  had 
expected  nothing  else  and  knew  that  every  word 
the  doctor  said  was  true  —  and  more  also.  He 
protested,  as  he  had  protested  to  Dolly  half  an 
hour  earlier,  that  Mr.  Darche  was  still  a  service- 
able president  for  the  Company,  since  he  could 
sign  his  name,  no  matter  whether  he  understood 

98 


MARION   DARCHE.  99 

the  value  of  the  signature  or  not.  The  doctor, 
who,  like  most  people,  was  aware  of  the  investi- 
gation then  proceeding,  shook  his  head,  smiled 
incredulously,  asked  after  Mrs.  Darche  and  went 
away,  pondering  upon  the  vanity  of  human 
affairs  and  consoling  himself  for  the  sins  of  the 
world  with  the  wages  thereof,  most  of  which 
ultimately  find  their  way  to  the  doctor's  bank- 
book, be  the  event  life  or  death. 

Old  Mr.  Darche,  supremely  unconscious  of 
what  had  taken  place,  and  believing  that  he  had 
been  giving  the  benefit  of  his  valuable  advice  to 
the  directors  of  a  western  railroad,  had  lighted 
one  of  his  very  fine  cigars  and  had  fallen  asleep 
in  his  easy  chair  in  his  own  study  before  it  was 
half  finished.  Marion  had  returned  to  Dolly  in 
the  library  and  John  had  sent  for  his  stenog- 
rapher and  had  taken  possession  of  the  front 
drawing-room  for  the  morning,  on  pretence  of 
attending  to  the  business  which,  in  reality,  had 
already  been  withdrawn  from  his  hands  during 
several  weeks. 

He  was  in  great  suspense  and  anxiety,  for  it 
was  expected  that  the  work  of  the  investigating 


100  MARION    DA.RCHE. 

committee  would  end  on  that  afternoon.  He 
knew  that  in  any  event  he  was  ruined,  and  even 
he  felt  that  it  would  be  humiliating  to  live  on  his 
wife's  income.  They  would  go  abroad  at  once,  he 
thought,  New  York  had  become  hateful  to  him. 
He  had  as  yet  no  apprehension  of  being  deprived 
of  his  liberty,  even  temporarily.  Whatever 
action  was  taken  against  him  must  be  of  a  civil 
nature,  he  thought.  He  did  not  believe  that  any 
judge  would  issue  a  warrant  for  his  arrest  on 
such  evidence  as  could  have  been  collected  by 
the  committee.  Simon  Darche  was  incapable  of 
remembering  what  he  had  done  even  a  week 
previously,  and  since  the  doctors  declared  that 
his  mind  was  gone,  almost  anything  might  be 
attributed  to  him  —  anything,  in  fact,  about  which 
the  slightest  trace  of  irregularity  could  be  dis- 
covered. John  had  been  cautious  enough  in  his 
actions  when  he  had  been  aware  that  he  was 
violating  the  law,  though  he  had  been  utterly 
reckless  when  he  had  appealed  to  chance  in  the 
hope  of  retrieving  his  losses,  and  recovering 
himself.  He  believed  himself  safe,  and  indulged 
in  speculations  about  the  future  as  a  relief  to  the 
excessive  anxiety  of  the  moment. 


MARION   DARCHE.  101 

Mrs.  Darche  had  some  right  to  know  the  result 
of  the  consultation  which  had  taken  place,  but  her 
husband  either  intended  to  leave  her  in  ignorance 
or -forgot  her  existence  after  the  doctors  had  left 
the  house.  During  some  time  she  remained  with 
Dolly  in  the  library,  expecting  that  John  would  at 
least  send  her  some  message,  if  he  did  not  choose 
to  come  himself.  At  last  she  determined  to  go  to 
him. 

"  I  am  very  busy  now,"  he  said  as  she  entered 
the  room  and  glanced  at  the  secretary. 

"  Yes,"  answered  Mrs.  Darche,  "  I  see,  but  I 
must  speak  to  you  alone  for  a  minute." 

"  Well  —  but  I  wish  you  would  choose  some 
other  time."  ,  He  nodded  to  the  secretary  who 
rose  and  quietly  disappeared. 

"  What  is  it  ? "  asked  Darche,  when  they  were 
alone. 

"What  did  the  doctors  say?" 

"  Oh,  nothing  at  all.  They  talked  as  doctors 
always  do.  Keep  the  patient  in  good  health, 
plenty  of  fresh  air,  food  and  sleep."  He  laughed 
sourly  at  his  own  words. 

"Is   that  all?"   inquired   Marion,  rather   incred- 


102  MARION   DABCHB. 

ulously.  "  They  must  have  said  something  else. 
Why,  we  can  all  see  that  he  is  not  himself.  There 
is  something  very  seriously  wrong.  I  am  quite 
sure  that  he  did  not  recognise  me  yesterday." 

"  Not  recognise  you  ? "  said  John  with  the  same 
disagreeable  laugh.  "Not  recognise  you?  Do  not 
be  silly.  He  talks  of  nobody  else.  I  tell  you 
there  is  nothing  in  the  world  the  matter  with 
him,  he  is  good  for  another  twenty  years." 

"  Thank  heaven  for  that  —  for  the  twenty  years 
of  life,  whether  with  all  his  faculties  or  not  — " 

"Yes,  by  all  means  let  us  return  thanks.  At 
the  present  rate  of  interest  on  his  life  that  means 
at  least  two  millions." 

"It  hurts  me  to  hear  you  talk  like  that  about 
your  father,"  said  Marion,  sitting  down  and  watch- 
ing her  husband  as  he  walked  slowly  up  and 
down  before  her. 

"Does  it?  That  is  interesting.  I  wonder  why 
you  are  hurt  because  he  is  likely  to  live  twenty 
years.  You  are  not  very  likely  to  be  hurt  by  his 
death." 

"  Did  I  ever  suggest  such  a  thing  ?  " 

"  No,  it  suggested  itself." 


MAKION   DARCHE.  103 

At  this  speech  Mrs.  Darche  rose.  Standing 
quite  still  for  a  moment,  she  looked  quietly  into 
his  uncertain  eyes.  He  was  evidently  in  the 
worst  of  humours,  and  quite  unable  to  control 
himself,  even  had  he  wished  to  do  so.  She  felt 
that  it  would  be  safer  to  leave  him,  for  her 
own  temper  was  overwrought  and  ready  to  break 
out.  She  turned  towards  the  door.  Then  he 
called  her  back. 

"  I  say,  Marion  ! " 

«  Well." 

"  What  are  you  making  such  a  fuss  about  ? " 

"  Have  I  said  anything  ?  " 

"  No,  not  much,  but  you  have  a  particularly 
uncomfortable  way  of  letting  one  see  what  you 
would  like  to  say." 

"  Is  that  why  you  called  me  back  ? "  asked 
Mrs.  Darche  on  the  point  of  turning  away  again. 

"I  suppose  so.  It  certainly  was  not  for  the 
pleasure  of  prolonging  this  delightful  interview." 

Once  more  she  moved  in  the  direction  of  the 
door.  Then  something  seemed  to  tighten  about 
her  heart,  something  long  forgotten,  and  which, 
if  she  tried  to  understand  it  at  all,  she  thought 


104  MARION   DAECHB. 

was  pity.  It  was  nothing  —  only  a  dead  love 
turning  in  its  grave.  But  it  hurt  her,  and  she 
stopped  and  looked  back.  John  Darche  was 
leaning  against  the  high  mantlepiece,  shading  his 
eyes  from  the  fire  with  his  small,  pointed  white 
hand.  She  came  and  stood  beside  him. 

"  John,"  she  said  gently,  "  I  want  to  speak  to 
you  seriously.  I  am  very  sorry  if  I  was  hasty 
just  now.  Please  forget  it." 

Darche  looked  up,  pulled  out  his  watch  and 
glanced  at  it,  and  then  looked  at  her  again  be- 
fore he  answered.  His  eyes  were  hard  and  dull. 

"  I  think  I  said  that  I  was  rather  busy  this 
morning,"  he  answered  slowly. 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  answered  Marion,  in  her  sweet, 
low  voice.  "  But  I  will  not  keep  you  long.  I 
must  speak.  John,  is  this  state  of  things  to  go 
on  for  ever?" 

"I  fancy  not.  The  death  of  one  of  us  is 
likely  to  put  a  stop  to  it  before  eternity  sets 
in,"  he  answered  with  some  scorn. 

"  We  can  stop  it  now  if  we  will  but  try," 
said  Marion,  laying  her  hand  entreatingly  upon 
his  arm. 


MARION   DARCHE.  105 

"  Oh  yes,  no  doubt,"  observed  John  coldly. 

"Let  me  speak,  please,  this  once,"  said  Mrs. 
Darche.  "  I  know  that  you  are  worried  and 
harassed  about  business,  and  you  know  that  I 
want  to  spare  you  all  I  can,  and  would  help 
you  if  I  could." 

"I  doubt  whether  your  help  would  be  con- 
ducive to  the  interests  of  the  Company,"  ob- 
served Darche. 

"No  —  I  know  that  I  cannot  help  you  in  that 
way.  But  if  you  would  only  let  me,  in  other 
ways,  I  could  make  it  so  much  easier  for  you." 

"  Could  you  ? "  asked  John,  turning  upon  her 
immediately.  "  Then  just  lend  me  a  hundred 
thousand  dollars." 

Mrs.  Darche  started  a  little  at  the  words.  As 
has  been  said,  she  was  really  quite  in  ignorance 
of  what  was  taking  place  and  had  no  idea  that 
her  husband  could  be  in  need  of  what  in  com- 
parison with  the  means  of  the  Company  seemed 
but  a  small  sum  in  cash. 

"  Do  you  need  money,  John  ?  "  she  asked,  looking 
at  him  anxiously. 

"Oh  no,  I  was  only  putting  an  imaginary  case." 


106  MARION  DARCHE. 

"I  wish  it  were  not  merely  imaginary  — ' 

"Do  you?"  he  asked,  interrupting  her  quickly. 
"That  is  kind." 

Marion  seemed  about  to  lose  her  temper  at  last, 
though  she  meant  to  control  herself. 

"John!"  she  exclaimed,  in  a  tone  of  reproach, 
"why  will  you  so  misunderstand  me?" 

"It. is  you  who  misunderstand  everything." 

"I  mean  it  quite  seriously,"  she  answered. 
"  You  know  if  you  were  really  in  trouble  for  a  sum 
like  that,  I  could  help  you.  Not  that  you  ever 
could  be.  I  was  only  thinking  —  wishing  that  in 
some  way  or  other  I  might  be  of  use.  If  I  could 
help  you  in  anything,  no  matter  how  insignificant, 
it  would  bring  us  together." 

John  smiled  incredulously. 

"  Oh !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  is  that  what  you  are  driv- 
ing at?  Do  you  not  think  life  is  very  bearable  as 
we  are?" 

By  this  time  Marion  had  completely  regained 
her  self-possession.  She  was  determined  not  to  be 
repulsed,  but  there  was  a  little  bitterness  in  her 
voice  as  she  spoke. 

"No,  frankly,  John,  as  we   are   living  now,  life 


MARION  DARCHE.  107 

is  not  very  bearable.  I  cannot  exchange  half  a 
dozen  words  with  you  without  quarrelling,  and  it 
is  not  my  fault,  John,  it  is  not  my  fault!  Could 
you  hot  sometimes  make  it  a  little  easier  for  me  ?  " 

"By  borrowing  a  hundred  thousand  dollars?" 

A  pause  followed  John's  answer,  and  he  walked 
as  far  as  the  window,  came  back  again  and  stopped. 

"  If  you  think  it  would  be  conducive  to  our  con- 
jugal happiness  that  I  should  owe  you  a  hundred 
thousand  dollars,  by  all  means  lend  it  to  me.  I 
will  give  you  very  good  security  and  pay  you  the 
current  rate  of  interest." 

Mrs.  Darche  hesitated  a  moment  before  she  spoke 
again.  She  was  not  quite  sure  that  he  was  in 
earnest,  and  being  determined  to  make  the  utmost 
use  of  the  opportunity  she  had  created,  she  dreaded 
lest  if  she  pressed  her  offer  upon  him  he  should 
suddenly  turn  upon  her  with  a  brutal  laugh. 

"Do  you  really  mean  it,  John?"  she  asked  at 
last.  "Will  it  help  you  at  all?" 

"Oh,  if  you  insist  upon  it  and  think  it  will 
promote  your  happiness,  I  have  no  objection  to 
taking  it,"  said  Darche  coolly.  "As  a  matter  of 
fact  it  would  be  a  convenience  to-day,  and  it  might 


108  MARION   DARCHB. 

help  me  to-morrow.  It  will  certainly  not  be  of  any 
importance  next  week." 

"  I  do  not  know  whether  you  are  in  earnest  or 
not,  but  I  am." 

Once  more  she  paused.  She  realised  that  he  was 
in  need  of  a  great  deal  of  money,  and  that  his 
scornful  acceptance  of  her  offer  was  really  his  way 
of  expressing  real  interest. 

"You  shall  have  it  as  soon  as  I  can  get  it  for 
you.  If  you  really  need  it  I  shall  be  very  glad. 
If  you  are  only  laughing  at  me  —  well,  I  can  bear 
that  too." 

"No,"  answered  John,  speaking  much  more 
seriously  than  hitherto.  "It  is  a  simple  matter, 
of  course  —  but  it  is  quite  true  that  it  would  be  a 
convenience  to  me  to  have  a  hundred  thousand 
dollars  in  cash  during  the  next  twenty-four  hours, 
and  after  all,  it  will  not  make  any  difference  to  you, 
as  so  much  of  your  property  is  in  bonds.  All  you 
need  to  do  is  to  borrow  the  money  on  call  and  give 
the  bonds  as  collateral." 

"I  do  not  understand  those  things,  of  course," 
said  Marion  in  a  tone  of  grief,  "  but  I  suppose 
it  can  be  managed  easily  enough,  and  I  shall  be 


MARION   DABCHB.  109 

BO  proud  if  I  am  able  to  help  you  a  little.  Oh, 
John,"  she  added,  after  a  little  pause,  "  if  we 
could  only  be  as  we  used  to  be,  everything  to 
each  other." 

"  I  wish  we  could,"  John  answered  with  real 
or  assumed  gravity.  "  But  in  this  existence, 
there  is  everything  to  separate  us  and  hardly 
anything  to  bring  us  together.  You  see,  I  am 
worried  all  day  long,  I  never  get  any  rest  and 
then  I  lose  my  temper  about  everything.  I  know 
it  is  wrong  but  I  cannot  help  it,  and  you  must 
try  to  be  as  patient  as  you  can,  my  dear." 

"I  do  try,  John,  I  do  try,  do  I  not?  Say  that 
you  know  that  I  do."  For  a  moment  she  thought 
she  had  produced  an  impression  upon  him,  and 
a  vision  of  a  happier  and  more  peaceful  life  rose 
suddenly  before  her  ready  imagination.  But  the 
tone  in  which  he  spoke  the  next  words  dispelled 
any  such  illusion. 

"  Oh  yes,"  he  said  dryly,  "  I  know  you  do,  of 
course.  You  are  awfully  good  —  and  I  am  awfully 
bad.  I  will  reform  as  soon  as  I  have  time.  And 
now,  if  you  do  not  mind,  I  will  go  and  attend 
to  my  letters." 


110  MARION    DARCHB. 

"And  I  will  see  about  getting  the  money  at 
once,"  she  said,  bravely  hiding  her  disappointment 
at  his  change  of  tone.  "  I  may  be  able  to  have 
it  by  this  evening." 

"  Oh  yes,"  he  answered  with  some  eagerness, 
"  if  you  are  quick  about  it.  Well  good-bye,  and 
I  am  really  much  more  grateful  then  I  seem." 

His  dry  unpleasant  laugh  was  the  last  sound 
she  heard  as  she  left  the  room.  After  all,  it 
seemed  perfectly  useless,  though  she  did  her 
best  all  day  and  every  day. 

Marion  Darche  left  her  husband  more  than 
ever  convinced  of  the  hopelessness  of  any  attempt 
at  a  happier  and  more  united  existence..  Faith- 
ful, brave,  loving,  a  woman  of  heart  rather  than 
head,  she  encountered  in  every  such  effort  the 
blank  wall  of  a  windowless  nature,  so  to  say  —  the 
dull  opposition  of  a  heartless  intelligence  incapable 
of  understanding  any  natural  impulse  except  that 
of  self-preservation,  and  responding  to  no  touch  of 
sympathy  or  love.  Against  her  will,  she  wondered 
why  she  had  married  him,  and  tried  to  recall  the 
time  when  his  obstinacy  had  seemed  strength, 
his  dulness  gravity,  his  brutality  keenness.  But 


MARION   DARCHE.  Ill 

no  inner  conjuring  with  self  could  give  an 
instant's  life  to  the  dead  illusion.  The  nearest 
approach  to  any  real  resurrection  which  she  had 
felt  for  years  had  been  the  little  pang  that  had 
overtaken  her  when  she  had  turned  to  leave  him 
and  had  thought  for  one  moment  that  he  might 
be  suffering,  as  she  was  apt  to  suffer  —  this  being, 
whom  she  had  once  misunderstood  and  loved, 
whom  she  loved  not  at  all  now,  but  to  whom  she 
had  been  lovelessly  faithful  in  word  and  thought 
and  deed  for  years  past. 

Yet  she  knew  that  others  had  loved  her  well, 
most  of  all  Harry  Brett,  and  girl-like,  groping  for 
her  heart's  half-grown  truth  she  had  once  believed 
that  she  loved  him  too,  with  his  boyish,  careless 
ways,  his  thoughtless  talk  and  his  love  of  happi- 
ness for  its  own  sake.  He  had  disappointed  her 
in  some  little  way,  being  over-light  of  leaf  and 
flower,  though  the  stem  was  good  to  the  core; 
she  had  looked  for  strength  on  the  surface  as 
a  child  breaks  a  twig  and  laughs  at  the  oak  for 
its  weakness;  she  had  expected,  perhaps,  to  be 
led  and  ruled  by  a  hand  that  would  be  tender  and 
obedient  only  for  her,  and  she  had  turned  from 
Harry  Brett  to  John  Darche  as  from  a  delusion 


112  MARION    DARCHE. 

to  a  fact,  from  a  dream  to  the  strong  truth  of 
waking  —  very  bitter  waking  in  the  end. 

But  though  she  had  wrecked  heart  and  happi- 
ness, and  had  suffered  that  cold  and  hunger  of  the 
soul  which  the  body  can  never  feel,  she  would  not 
change  her  course  nor  give  up  the  dream  of  hope. 
Worse  than  what  had  been,  could  not  be  to  come, 
she  said  to  herself,  realising  how  little  difference 
financial  ruin,  even  to  herself,  could  make  now. 

As  she  took  up  her  pen  to  write  a  word  to 
Brett,  begging  him  to  come  to  her  without  delay, 
she  paused  a  moment,  thinking  how  strange  it  was 
that  in  an  extremity  she  should  be  obliged  to  send 
for  him,  who  had  loved  her,  to  help  her  to  save 
her  husband,  if  salvation  were  possible.  She  even 
felt  a  little  warmth  about  her  heart,  knowing  how 
quickly  Harry  would  come,  and  she  was  glad  that 
she  had  known  how  to  turn  a  boy's  romantic 
attachment  into  a  man's  solid  friendship.  Brett 
would  not  disappoint  her. 

She  sent  Dolly  away,  and  Dolly,  obedient, 
docile  and  long-suffering  for  her  friend's  sake, 
kissed  her  on  both  pale  cheeks  and  left  her, 
tripping  down  the  brown  steps  with  a  light  gait 
and  a  heavy  heart. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

MARION  had  sent  a  messenger  down  town  after 
Brett,  and  the  latter  did  not  lose  a  moment  in 
answering  the  note  in  person.  He  was  a  little 
pale  as  he  entered. 

"  What  is  it? "  he  asked,  almost  before  he  had 
shaken  hands. 

"  It  is  kind  of  you  to  come  at  once,"  answered 
Marion.  "I  asked  you  to  come  about  a  matter  of 
business.  Sit  down.  I  will  explain." 

"  Can  I  be  of  any  use  ? " 

"  Yes,  I  want  some  money,  a  great  deal  of 
money,  in  fact,  and  I  want  it  immediately." 

"  Are  you  going  to  buy  a  house  ? "  he  inquired 
in  some  surprise.  "How  much  do  you  want?" 

"  A  hundred  thousand  dollars." 

Brett  did  not  answer  at  once.  He  looked  at  her 
rather  anxiously,  then  stared  at  the  fire,  then  looked 
at  her  again. 

"It  is  rather  short  notice  for  such  an  amount. 

113 


114  MARION   DAECHE. 

But  you  have  nearly  as  much  as  that  in  bonds  and 
mortgages." 

"Yes,  I  know." 

"Well  then,  there  need  not  be  any  difficulty. 
What  you  have  in  bonds  you  have  already,  to  all 
intents  and  purposes.  Do  I  understand  that  you 
want  this  money  in  cash?" 

"  Yes,"  answered  Mrs.  Darche  with  decision,  "  in 
cash." 

"  I  suppose  a  cheque  will  do  as  well  ?  "  suggested 
Brett  with  a  smile. 

"  A  cheque  ?  "  She  repeated  the  word  and  seemed 
to  hesitate.  "  I  should  have  to  write  niy  name  on 
it,  should  I  not?" 

"  Yes," 

During  the  pause  which  followed,  Marion  seemed 
to  be  reviewing  the  aspects  of  the  transaction. 

"The  name  of  the  person  to  whom  I  give  it?" 
she  asked  at  last,  and  she  seemed  to  avoid  his 
glance. 

"  Yes,"  answered  Brett,  surprised  at  the  inexperi- 
ence betrayed  by  the  question,  "  unless  you  cashed 
it  yourself  and  took  the  money  in  notes." 

"No,"  said  Mrs.  Darche,  as  firmly  as  before.     "I 


MARION   DARCHB.  115 

want  the  notes  here,  please.  What  I  want  you  to 
do,  is  to  take  enough  bonds  and  get  the  money  for 
me.  I  do  not  care  to  know  anything  else  about 
it,  because  I  shall  not  understand." 

"  I  suppose  I  ought  not  to  be  inquisitive,  my  dear 
friend,"  replied  Brett  after  a  little  hesitation,  "but 
I  ought  to  tell  you  what  you  do  not  seem  to  realise, 
that  a  hundred  thousand  dollars  is  a  great  deal  of 
money  and  that  you  ought  not  to  keep  such  a  sum 
in  the  house." 

*'I  do  not  mean  to  keep  it  in  the  house.  It  is 
to  be  taken  away  immediately." 

"I  see." 

He  concluded  that  the  money  was  to  be  taken 
from  the  house  by  John  Darche,  and  he  determined 
to  prevent  such  a  result  if  possible. 

"  May  I  ask  one  question  ? "  he  inquired. 

"I  will  not  promise  to  answer  it."  She  still 
looked  away  from  him. 

"  I  hope  you  will.  Do  you  mean  to  lend  this 
money  to  some  one?  If  it  were  an  ordinary  pay- 
ment you  would  certainly  not  want  it  in  notes  in 
the  house." 

"How  do  you  know?"  asked  Marion  with  some 
impatience^ 


116  MARION    DAJRCHB. 

"  Because  no  human  man  of  business  with  whom 
I  have  ever  had  anything  to  do  likes  to  trot  about 
town  with  a  hundred  thousand  dollars'  worth  of 
notes  in  his  pocket.  And  there  is  very  little  doubt 
in  my  mind  about  what  you  mean  to  do  with  the 
money.  You  mean  to  give  it  to  your  husband. 
Am  I  right?" 

Mrs.  Darche  blushed  a  little  and  a  shade  of 
annoyance  crossed  her  face. 

"  Why  should  I  tell  you  what  I  am  to  do  with 
it?"  she  asked. 

"  Because  I  am  your  legal  adviser,"  answered 
Brett  without  hesitating,  "and  I  may  give  you 
some  good  advice." 

"Thank  you,  I  do  not  want  any  advice." 

Another  pause  followed  this  declaration,  which 
only  seemed  to  confirm  the  lawyer  in  his  surmises. 

"  I  will  call  it  by  another  name,"  he  said  at 
last  in  a  conciliatory  tone.  "  I"  will  call  it 
information.  But  it  is  information  of  a  kind 
that  you  do  not  expect.  I  should  certainly  not 
have  said  anything  about  it  if  you  had  not  sent 
for  me  on  this  business.  Is  it  of  any  use  to  beg 
you  to  reconsider  the  question  of  lending  this 
money  ?  " 


MARION   DARCHE.  117 

"No,  I  have  made  up  my  mind." 

"  To  lend  it  to  your  husband  ?  " 

"  Dear  Mr.  Brett,"  said  Marion,  beginning  to 
be  impatient  again,  "  I  said  that  I  would  rather 
not  tell  you." 

"  I  fancy  that  I  am  not  mistaken,"  Brett  an- 
swered. "  Now  my  dear  friend,  you  will  be  the 
last  to  know  what  every  one  has  known  for  some 
time,  but  it  is  time  that  you  should  know  it. 
The  affairs  of  the  Company  are  in  a  very  bad 
state,  so  bad  indeed,  that  an  inquiry  has  been 
going  on  into  the  management.  I  do  not  know 
the  result  of  it  yet,  but  I  am  very  much  afraid 
that  it  will  be  bad,  and  that  it  will  have  very 
disagreeable  consequences  for  you  all." 

"  Consequences?  "  repeated  Mrs.  Darche.  "  What 
consequences?  Do  you  mean  that  we  shall  lose 
money  ?  " 

"  I  mean  that  and  I  mean  something  more.  It 
is  very  serious.  Your  husband  is  deeply  involved, 
and  his  father's  name  is  so  closely  associated  with 
his  in  all  the  transactions  that  it  seems  almost 
impossible  to  say  which  of  the  two  is  innocent." 

"  Innocent  !  "    cried    Marion,    laying    her    hand 


118  MARION  DARCHE. 

suddenly  upon  the  arm  of  her  chair  and  starting 
forward,  then  rising  quickly  to  her  feet  and 
looking  down  at  him.  "  What  do  you  mean  ? 
Why  do  you  use  that  word?" 

The  expression  had  hardly  escaped  Brett's  lips 
when  he  realised  the  extent  of  his  carelessness. 
He  rose  and  stood  beside  her,  feeling,  as  a  man 
does,  that  she  had  him  at  a  disadvantage  while  he 
was  seated  and  she  was  standing. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said,  "  I  should  have 
been  more  careful.  I  should  have  said  which  of 
the  two -is  responsible  for  —  " 

"  Something  disgraceful  ? "  interrupted  Mrs. 
Darche  whose  excitement  was  only  increased  by 
his  hesitation.  "  For  heaven's  sake,  do  not  keep 
me  in  this  suspense.  Speak !  Tell  me !  Be 
quick !  " 

"  I  should  not  have  spoken  at  all  except  as 
your  adviser,"  said  Brett.  "  Nothing  definite  is 
known  yet,  but  something  is  wrong.  As  a  purely 
business  transaction  it  is  madness  to  lend  money 
to  John  Darche.  Can  you  believe  for  a  moment 
that  the  treasurer  of  such  a  Company,  that  the 
men  who  control  such  a  Company,  would  ask  you 


MARION   DABCHB.  119 

to  lend  them  a  hundred  thousand  dollars  at  a  few 
hours'  notice,  if  they  were  not  on  the  very  verge 
of  ruin  ?  " 

"No,  but  that  is  not  what  happened." 

She  stopped  short  and  moved  away  from  him 
a  little,  hesitating  as  to  what  she  should  say  next. 
It  was  impossible  to  describe  to  him  the  scene 
which  had  taken  place  between  her  and  her  hus- 
band. 

"  I  cannot  tell  you,  and  yet  I  want  you  to 
know,"  she  said,  at  last. 

"  Do  you  not  trust  me  ? "  said  Brett,  hoping  to 
encourage  her. 

"  Certainly.  Trust  you !  Oh  yes,  I  trust  you 
with  all  my  heart." 

She  turned  and  faced  him  again. 

"  Then  tell  me,"  said  he.  "  Tell  me  what  hap- 
pened in  as  few  words  as  possible.  Just  the  bare 
facts." 

"  It  is  the  bare  facts  that  are  so  hard  to  tell." 

She  turned  away  from  him  again  feeling  that  if 
she  allowed  her  eyes  to  meet  his  she  could  not 
long  withhold  her  confidence. 

"  I   suppose    your    husband    let    you    guess   that 


120  MARION  DARCHB. 

there  was  trouble,  so  that  you  made  the  offer  spon- 
taneously, and  then  he  accepted  it." 

"  Well  —  yes  —  no  —  almost." 

Still  she  hesitated,  standing  by  the  writing-table, 
and  idly  turning  over  the  papers. 

"I  saw  that  he  was  worried  and  harassed  and 
that  something  was  wearing  upon  him,  and  I  did 
so  want  to  help  him !  I  thought  it  might  —  no  I 
will  not  say  that." 

"  But  it  will  not  help  matters  to  throw  good 
money  after  bad,"  answered  Brett  thoughtfully. 
"  Believe  me,  there  is  no  more  chance  of  saving 
this  money  you  mean  to  give  him,  than  all  the 
other  millions  that  have  gone  through  his  hands 
—  gone  heaven  knows  where." 

"Millions?" 

There  was  surprise  in  her  tone. 

"  I  am  afraid  so,"  answered  Brett,  as  though  he 
had  no  reason  in  making  any  correction  in  his 
estimate. 

"  You  must  tell  me  all  you  can,  all  you  know," 
said  Marion,  turning  to  him  again. 

"  That  would  be  a  long  affair,"  said  Brett, 
"  though  I  know  a  great  deal  about  it.  But  I  do 


MARION   DABCHB.  121 

not  know  all,  though  the  situation  is  simple 
enough  and  bad  enough.  In  spite  of  the  large 
earnings  of  the  Company,  the  finances  are  in  a 
rotten  state  and  it  is  said  that  there  are  large 
sums  not  accounted  for.  An  inquiry  has  been 
going  on  for  some  time,  and  was,  I  believe,  closed 
last  night,  but  the  result  will  not  be  known  until 
this  afternoon." 

"  What  sort  of  an  inquiry  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Darche, 
anxiously. 

"  The  regular  examination  of  the  books  and  of 
all  the  details  which  have  gone  through  the  hands 
of  your  father-in-law  and  your  husband." 

"  My  father-in-law !  Do  you  mean  to  say  that 
they  are  trying  to  implicate  the  old  gentleman 
too?" 

Marion's  face  expressed  the  utmost  concern. 

"As  president  of  the  Company,  he  cannot  fail 
to  be  implicated." 

"  But  he  is  no  more  responsible  for  what  he 
does  than  a  child  !  "  cried  Mrs.  Darche,  in  a  tone 
of  protestation. 

"  I  know  that,  but  he  is  nominally  at  the  head 
of  the  administration.  That  is  all  you  need  know. 

14— VoL  9 


122  MARION   DARCHB. 

The  rest  is  merely  a  mass  of  figures  with  an  ac- 
count of  tricks  and  manipulations  which  you  could 
not  understand." 

"  And  what  would  happen  if  —  if  —  " 

She  leaned  towards  him  unconsciously,  watch- 
ing his  lips  to  catch  the  answer. 

"  I  suppose  that  if  the  inquiry  goes  against 
them,  legal  steps  will  be  taken,"  said  Brett. 

"Legal  steps?     What  legal  steps?" 

Brett  hesitated,  asking  himself  whether  he 
should  be  justified  in  telling  her  what  he  expected 
as  well  as  what  he  knew. 

"Well  —  "he  continued  at  last,  "you  know  in 
such  cases  the  injured  parties  appeal  to  the  law. 
But  it  is  of  no  use  to  talk  about  that  until  you 
know  the  result  of  the  inquiry." 

"  Do  you  mean,  do  you  really  mean  that  John 
may  be  arrested?"  asked  Mrs.  Darche,  turning 
pale. 

"At  any  moment." 

Brett  answered  in  a  low  voice.  Almost  as 
soon  as  he  had  spoken  he  left  her  side  and 
crossed  the  room  as  though  not  wishing  to  be  a 
witness  to  the  effect  the  news  must  have  upon 


MARION   DAKCHB.  123 

her.  Before  his  back  was  turned  she  sank  into  a 
chair  and  covered  her  face  with  her  hands.  A 
long  pause  followed.  Marion  was  the  first  to  speak. 

"  Mr.  Brett  —  "  she  said,  and  stopped. 

"Yes."     He  came  back  to  her  side  at  once. 

"Can  you  not  help  me?"  she  asked  earnestly. 

"How  can  I?" 

"Is  there  nothing,  nothing  that  can  be  done?" 

"  The  whole  matter  is  already  beyond  my 
power,  or  yours,  or  any  one's." 

Marion  looked  steadily  at  him  for  several 
seconds  and  then  turned  her  face  away,  leaning 
against  the  mantelpiece. 

"  I  am  sure  something  can  be  done." 
.    "No,  nothing  can  be  done." 

He  did  not  move,  and  spoke  in  a  tone  of  the 
utmost  decision. 

"That  is  not  true,"  said  Marion  turning  upon 
him  suddenly.  "Money  can  help  him,  and  we 
are  wasting  time.  Do  not  lose  a  moment!  Take 
all  I  have  in  the  world  and  turn  it  into  money 
and  take  it  to  him.  Go!  Do  not  lose  a  moment! 
Go !  Why  do  you  wait  ?  Why-  do  you  look  at 
me  so?" 


124  MARION   DARCHB. 

"It  would  not  be  a  drop  in  the  bucket," 
answered  Brett,  still  not  moving. 

"  All  I  have  !  " 

"All  you  have." 

"That  is  impossible,"  cried  Mrs.  Darche,  in- 
credulously. "  I  am  not  enormously  rich,  but  it 
is  something.  It  is  between  four  and  five  hun- 
dred thousand  dollars.  Is  it  not?  I  have  heard 
you  say  so." 

"Something  like  that,"  assented  Brett,  as 
though  the  statement  did  not  alter  the  case. 

Mrs.  Darche  came  close  to  him,  laid  her  hand 
upon  his  arm  and  gently  pushed  him,  as  though 
urging  him  to  leave  her. 

"Go!  I  say,"  she  cried.  "Take  it.  Do  as  I 
tell  you.  There  may  be  time  yet.  It  may  save 
them." 

But  Brett  did  not  move. 

"It  is  utterly  useless,"  he  said  stolidly.  "It  is 
merely  throwing  money  out  of  the  window.  Mil- 
lions cculd  not  stop  the  inquiry  now,  nor  prevent 
the  law  from  taking  its  course  if  it  is  appealed  to." 

"  You  will  not  do  it  ? "  asked  Marion  with  some- 
thing almost  like  a  menace  in  her  voice. 


MARION   DARCHE.  125 

"No,  I  will  not,"  said  Brett,  more  warmly.  "I 
will  not  let  you  ruin  yourself  for  nothing." 

"Are  you  really  my  friend?" 

She  drew  back  a  little  and  looked  at  him 
earnestly. 

"  Your  friend  ?  Yes  —  and  more  —  more  than 
that,  far  more  than  you  can  dream  of." 

"  Will  you  refuse,  do  you  refuse,  to  do  this 
for  me  ?  " 

"Yes,  I  refuse." 

"  Then  I  will  do  it  for  myself,"  she  said  with  a 
change  of  tone  as  though  she  had  suddenly  come 
to  a  decision.  "I  will  let  my  husband  do  it  for 
me.  You  cannot  refuse  to  give  me  what  is  mine, 
what  you  have  in  your  keeping." 

But  Brett  drew  back  and  folded  his  arms. 

"  I  can  refuse  and  I  do  refuse,"  he  said. 

"  But  you  cannot !     You  have  no  right." 

Her  voice  was  almost  6reaking. 

"  That  makes  no  difference,"  Brett  answered 
firmly.  "I  have  the  power.  I  refuse  to  give  you 
anything.  You  can  bring  an  action  against  me 
for  robbing  you,  and  you  will  win  your  case,  but 
by  that  time  it  will  be  too  late.  You  may  borrow 


126  MARION   DARCHE. 

money  on  your  mere  name,  but  your  securities 
and  title-deeds  are  in  my  safe,  and  there  they 
shall  stay." 

Marion  looked  at  him  one  moment  longer  and 
then  sank  back  into  her  seat. 

"  You  are  cruel  and  unkind,"  she  said  in  broken 
tones.  "Oh,  what  shall  I  do?" 

Brett  hesitated,  not  knowing  exactly  what  to 
do,  and  not  finding  anything  especial  to  say.  It 
is  generally  the  privilege  of  man  to  be  the  bearer 
of  whatever  bad  news  is  in  store  for  woman,  but 
as  yet  no  hard  and  fast  rule  of  conduct  has  been 
laid  down  for  the  unfortunate  messenger's  action 
under  the  circumstances.  Being  at  a  loss  for 

c 

words  with  which  to  console  the  woman  he  loved 
for  the  pain  he  had  unwillingly  given  her,  Brett 
sat  down  opposite  her  and  tried  to  take  her  hand. 
She  drew  it  away  hastily. 

"  No,  go  away,"  she  said  almost  under  her  breath. 
"  Leave  me  alone.  I  thought  you  were  my  friend." 

"  Indeed  I  am,"  protested  Brett  in  a  soothing  tone. 

"Indeed  you  are  not." 

Marion  sat  up  suddenly  and  drew  back  to  her 
end  of  the  sofa. 


MAKION   DARCHE.  127 

"  Do  you  call  this  friendship  ? "  she  asked 
almost  bitterly.  "To  refuse  to  help  me  at  such  a 
moment.  Do  you  not  see  how  I  am  suffering? 
Do  you  not  see  what  is  at  stake?  My  husband's 
reputation,  his  father's  name,  good  name,  life  per- 
haps —  the  shock  of  a  disgrace  would  kill  him  — 
and  for  me,  everything !  And  you  sit  there  and 
refuse  to  lift  a  finger  to  help  me  —  oh,  it  is  too 

much !     Indeed  it  is  more  than  I  can  bear !  " 

^ 

"  Of  course  you  cannot  understand  it  all  now," 
said  Brett,  very  much  distressed.  "  You  cannot  see 
that  I  am  right,  but  you  will  see  it  soon,  too 
soon.  You  cannot  save  him.  Why  should  you 
ruin  yourself  ?  " 

"Why?"     ' 

"  Is  there  some  other  reason,"  asked  Brett, 
quickly.  "Something  that  I  do  not  know?" 

"  All  the  reasons,"  she  exclaimed  passionately, 
"all  -the  reasons  there  ever  were." 

"Do  you  love  him  still?"  asked  Brett,  scarcely 
knowing  what  he  was  saying. 

Marion  drew  still  further  back  from  him  and 
spoke  in  an  altered  tone. 

"Mr.  Brett,  you  have  no  right  to  ask  me  such  a 
question." 


128  MARION  DARCHB. 

"No  right?  I?  No,  perhaps  I  have  no  right 
But  I  take  the  right  whether  it  is  mine  or  not. 
Because  I  love  you  still,  as  I  have  always  loved 
you,  because  there  is  nothing  in  heaven  or  earth  I 
would  not  do  for  you,  because  if  you  asked  me  for 
all  I  possessed  at  this  moment,  you  should  have 
it,  to  do  what  you  like  with  it — though  you 
shall  have  nothing  of  what  is  yours  —  because,  to 
save  you  the  least  pain,  I  would  take  John 
Darche's  place  and  go  to  prison  and  be  called 
a  rascal  and  a  thief  before  all  the  world,  for  your 
sake,  for  your  dear  sake,  Marion.  I  love  you. 
You  know  that  I  love  you.  Right  or  wrong  — 
but  it  is  right  and  not  wrong!  There  is  not  a 
man  in  the  world  who  would  do  for  any  woman 
the  least  of  the  things  I  would  do  for  you." 

Again  he  tried  to  take  her  hand,  though  she 
resisted  and  snatched  it  from  him  after  a  little 
struggle. 

"  Leave  me  I  leave  me  ! "  she  cried  despairingly. 
"  Let  me  go  ! " 

"Not  until  you  know,  not  until  you  understand 
that  every  word  I  say  means  ten  thousand  times 
more  than  it  ever  meant  to  any  one,  not  until  you 


MARION  DARCHE.  129 

know  that  I  love  you  through  and  through  with 
every  part  of  me,  with  every  thought  and  action  of 
my  life.  Look  at  me !  Look  into  my  eyes !  Do 
you  not  see  it  there,  the  truth,  the  devotion?  No? 
Is  it  so  long  since  I  loved  you  and  you  said  — 
you  thought  —  you  believed  for  one  little  day  that 
you  loved  me  ?  Can  you  not  remember  it  ?  Can 
you  not  remember  even  the  sound  of  the  words? 
They  were  so  sweet  to  hear !  They  are  so  very 
sweet  as  they  come  back  now  —  with  all  they 
mean  now — but  could  not  mean  then!" 

"Harry!" 

She  could  not  resist  pronouncing  his  name  that 
once. 

"I  knew  it!  You  loved  me  then.  You  love 
me  now.  What  is  the  use  of  righting  against  it, 
when  we  love  each  other  so  ?  Marion !  Love ! 
Ah  God!  At  last!" 

"Go!" 

With  a  quick  movement  she  sprang  to  her  feet 
and  stood  back  from  him. 

"  Marion !  " 

But  in  a  moment  it  was  past.  With  a  gesture 
she  kept  him  at  arm's  length. 


130  MARION   DARCHE. 

"Is  that  your  friendship?"  she  asked  reproach- 
fully. 

"No,  it  is  love,"  he  answered  almost  roughly. 
"There  is  no  friendship  in  it." 

"  And  you  talk  of  helping  me ! "  she  cried. 
"And  at  such  a  time  as  this,  when  I  am  weak, 
unstrung,  you  force  it  all  upon  me,  and  drag  out 
what  I  have  hidden  so  long.  No,  no !  You  do 
not  love  me.  Go  ! " 

"  Not  love  you ! "  Again  he  tried  to  get  near 
her.  '  "  God  in  heaven !  Do  not  hurt  me  so  !  " 

"No,"  she  answered,  still  thrusting  him  back. 
"If  you  loved  me  you  would  help  me,  you  would 
respect  me,  you  would  honour  me,  you  would  not 
try  to  drag  me  down." 

"  Drag  you  down !     Ah,  Marion ! " 

He  spoke  very  unsteadily,  then  turning  his  face 
from  her  he  leaned  upon  the  mantelpiece  and 
watched  the  fire.  A  long  pause  followed.  After 
awhile  he  looked  up  again  and  their  eyes  met. 

"Harry!"  said  Mrs.  Darche  quietly. 

"Yes,"  he  answered. 

"Come  and  sit  beside  me  on  that  chair." 

Brett  obeyed. 


MARION   DARCHE.  131 

"We  must  forget  this  morning,"  said  Marion 
in  her  natural  tone  of  voice.  "We  must  say  to 
ourselves  that  all  this  has  never  happened  and  we 
must  believe  it.  Will  you  ?  " 

"You  ask  too  much,"  answered  Brett  looking 
away.  "I  cannot  forget  that  I  have  said  it — at 
last,  after  all  these  years." 

"You  must  forget  it.  You  must  —  must  —  for 
my  sake." 

"For  your  sake?"  Still  he  looked  away  from 
her. 

"  Yes,  for  my  sake,"  she  repeated.  "  If  you 
cannot  forget,  I  can  never  look  any  one  in  the 
face  again.  "Look  at  me,  please,"  she  said,  laying 
her  hand  upon  his  arm.  "  Look  into  my  eyes  and 
tell  me  that  you  will  not  remember." 

"For  your  sake  I  will  try  not  to  remember,"  he 
said  slowly.  "  But  I  cannot  promise  yet,"  he  added 
with  sudden  passion.  "  Oh  no !  " 

"You  will  do  your  best.  I  know  you  will,"  said 
Marion,  in  a  tone  that  was  meant  to  express  con- 
viction. "  Now  go.  And  remember  that  I  have 
forgotten." 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  Brett  answered  with  more 


132  MARION   DARCHE. 

humility  than  she  had  expected.  "You  are  very 
good  to  me.  I  was  mad  for  a  moment.  Forgive 
me.  Try  to  forgive  me." 

"There  is  nothing  to  forgive,  for  I  remember 
nothing,"  said  Marion  with  a  faint  smile. 

"  Good-bye,  then."     He  turned  to  go. 

"Good-bye,"  she  answered  quite  naturally. 

"Now  come  back,  please,"  .she  said,  when  he 
had  almost  reached  the  door.  "  You  are  Mr.  Brett 
now,  and  I  am  Mrs.  Darche.  I  am  in  great  trouble 
and  you  are  my  friend,  and  you  must  help  me  as 
well  as  you  can." 

"In  any  way  I  can,"  he  answered,  coming  back 
to  her.  "  But  I  will  help  only  you,  I  will  not  help 
any  one  else." 

"Not  even  old  Mr.  Darche?" 

"Yes,  I  do  not  mean  to  except  him." 

"That  is  right.  And  we  must  act  quickly. 
We  must  decide  what  is  to  be  done.  We  have," 
she  hesitated,  "  we  have  lost  time  —  at  any  moment 
it  may  be  too  late." 

"It  is  too  late  now,"  Brett  answered  in  a  sudden 
change  of  tone,  as  Stubbs  the  butler  suddenly 
entered  the  room. 


MARION  DARCHE.  133 

"Please  madam,"  said  Stubbs,  who  was  pale 
and  evidently  very  much  disturbed,  "there  are 
some  strange  gentlemen  to  see  Mr.  John  Darche, 
and  when  I  told  them  that  he  was  out,  they  said 
they  would  see  old  Mr.  Darche,  and  I  said  that 
old  Mr.  Darche  was  ill  and  could  see  no  one,  and 
they  said  they  must  see  him;  and  they  are  coming 
upstairs  without  leave,  and  here  they  are,  madam, 
and  I  cannot  keep  them  out ! " 


CHAPTER  VII. 

BAIL  was  refused,  and  John  Darche  remained 
in  prison  during  the  weeks  that  intervened  be- 
tween his  arrest  and  his  trial.  He  was  charged 
with  making  use  of  large  sums,  the  property  of 
the  Company,  for  which  he  was  unable  to  ac- 
count, with  fraudulently  tampering  with  the 
books  and  with  attempting  to  issue  certificates  of 
stock  to  a  very  large  amount,  bearing  forged 
signatures. 

The  house  in  Lexington  .Avenue  was  very 
gloomy  and  silent.  Simon  Darche,  who  was  of 
course  in  ignorance  of  what  had  taken  place, 
had  caught  cold  and  was  confined  to  his  bed. 
It  was  said  that  he  was  breaking  down  at  last, 
and  that  his  heart  was  affected.  Dolly  Maylands 
came  daily  and  spent  long  hours  with  her  friend, 
but  not  even  her  bright  face  could  bring  light 
into  the  house.  Russell  Vanbrugh  and  Harry 
Brett  also  came  almost  every  day.  Vanbrugh 

134 


MARION   DARCHE.  135 

had  undertaken  Darche's  defence,  out  of  friend- 
ship for  Marion,  and  it  was  natural  that  he 
should  come.  As  for  Brett,  he  could  not  stay 
away,  and  as  Mrs.  Darche  seemed  to  have  for- 
given and  forgotten  his  passionate  outbreak  and 
did  not  bid  him  discontinue  his  visits,  he  saw 
no  reason  for  doing  so  on  any  other  ground. 

He  was,  on  the  whole,  a  very  loyal-hearted 
man,  and  was  very  much  ashamed  of  having 
seemed  to  take  advantage  of  Marion's  distress, 
to  speak  as  he  had  spoken.  But  he  was  neither 
over-sensitive  nor  in  any  way  morbid.  Seeing 
that  she  intended  to  forgive  him,  he  did  not 
distress  himself  with  self-accusations  nor  doubt 
that  her  forgiveness  was  sincere  and  complete. 
Besides,  her  present  distress  was  so  great  that 
he  felt  instinctively  her  total  forgetfulness  of 
smaller  matters,  and  even  went  so  far  as  to  be- 
lieve himself  forgotten.  Meanwhile  he  watched 
every  opportunity  of  helping  Marion,  and  would 
have  been  ready  at  a  moment's  notice  to  do  any- 
thing whatever  which  could  have  alleviated  her 
suffering  in  the  slightest  degree.  Nevertheless,  he 
congratulated  himself  that,  he  was  not  a  criminal 


136  MARION   DARCHE. 

lawyer,    like     Vanbrugh,    and     that     it     had     not 
fallen  to   his  share  to  defend   John  Darche,  thief, 
swindler,    and   forger.     He  would   have   done  that, 
and     more     also,     as     Vanbrugh     was     doing,    for 
Marion's    sake,    no    doubt,    but    he   was   very   glad 
that  it   could   not   be   asked   of   him.     It   was   bad 
enough   that   he   should   be   put    into   the    witness- 
box   to   state    on   his  oath   such   facts   as  he  could 
remember  to  Darche's  advantage,  and  to  be  cross- 
examined  and  re-examined,  and  forced  through  the 
endless   phases  of   torture   to    which   witnesses   are 
usually   subjected.      He   was   able,  at   least,  to   es- 
tablish the   fact    that   not    the   smallest    sum    had 
ever,  so  far   as   he    knew,   passed   from   the   hands 
of    John   Darche    to    his   wife's    credit.     On   being 
asked    why,   as    Mrs.    Darche's    man    of    business, 
he   had  not    invested    any   of    her    money  in    the 
Company,   he    replied   that    his    father    had    man- 
aged the  estate   before   him,  and   that   his  father's 
prejudices    and    his    own    were   wholly  in    favour 
of    investment    in     real     estate,     bonds    of    long- 
established  railways  and   first  mortgages,  and  that 
Mrs.    Darche   had   left    her   affairs    entirely  in   his 
hands. 


MARION  DARCHE.  137 

Marion  herself  gave  her  evidence  bravely 
and  truthfully,  doing  her  best  to  speak  to  her 
husband's  advantage.  Her  appearance  and  manner 
excited  universal  sympathy,  to  use  the  language 
of  the  reports  of  the  case,  but  what  she  said 
did  not  tend  in  any  way  to  exculpate  John 
Darche.  On  the  contrary,  society  learned  for 
the  first  time  from  her  lips  that  she  had  led 
a  most  unhappy  life.  She  suffered  acutely 
under  the  cross-examination.  Being  excessively 
truthful,  she  gave "  her  answers  without  the 
slightest  distortion  of  fact,  while  doing  her  best 
to  pass  over  altogether  any  statement  which 
could  injure  her  husband's  defence.  As  often 
happens,  what  she  omitted  to  say  told  most 
heavily  against  him,  while  the  little  she  was  forced 
to  admit  concerning  his  father's  condition  amply 
corroborated  the  medical  opinion  of  the  latter's 
state,  and  proved  beyond  a  doubt  that  he  had 
been  during  more  than  a  year  a  mere  instrument 
in  his  son's  hands.  He,  at  least,  was  wholly 
innocent,  and  would  be  suffered  to  spend  his  few 
remaining  years  in  the  dreams  of  a  peaceful  dotage. 

The   court,   to    use    the    current    phrase,   showed 


138  MARION   DAB.CHE. 

Marion  every  consideration.  That  is,  she  was 
tacitly  admitted  from  the  first  to  have  had 
no  connection  whatever  with  the  crime  of  which 
her  husband  was  accused.  To  the  last,  she 
intended  to  be  present  when  the  judge  summed 
up  the  case,  in  order  to  help  John  to  the  end 
by  seeming  to  believe  in  his  innocence.  On  that 
very  day,  however,  Simon  Darche  was  so  far  re- 
covered as  to  be  able  to  leave  his  room  for  the 
first  time,  and  her  presence  at  his  side  seemed 
absolutely  necessary.  It  was  most  important 
that  all  knowledge  of  what  was  happening  should 
be  kept  from  him.  He  was  quite  capable  of 
leaving  the  house  if  left  to  himself,  and  he 
would  certainly  not  have  submitted  to  any  sug- 
gestion to  the  contrary  offered  by  Stubbs. 

He  might  stroll  into  a  club  or  into  the  house 
of  some  old  friend,  and  some  one  would  be  sure 
to  offer  him  the  tactless  sympathy  which  goes 
about  to  betray  secrets.  Moreover,  he  had  been 
told,  in  explanation  of  John's  protracted  absence, 
that  the  latter  had  been  obliged  to  go  away 
on  business,  and  he  had  enough  memory  and 
power  of  reasoning  left  to  be  surprised  at 


MARION   DARCHE.  139 

receiving  no  letters.  He  was  sure  to  make 
inquiries  about  John,  if  left  to  his  own  devices. 
Marion  could  not  leave  him.  In  the  midst 
of  her  extreme  anxiety  she  was  obliged  to  pass 
the  greater  part  of  the  day  in  reading  to  him, 
and  in  trying  to  divert  his  mind  from  the  thought 
of  John  and  his  absence.  His  love  and  mistaken 
admiration  for  his  son  had  been  the  strongest 
feelings  in  his  life  and  continued  to  the  end. 

Dolly  Maylands  would  have  been  faithful 
to  Marion  under  any  imaginable  circumstances, 
with  that  whole-souled  belief  and  trust  which 
is  girlhood's  greatest  charm.  On  the  last  day  of 
the  trial  she  came  in  the  morning  and  did  not 
leave  the  house  again.  Brett  appeared  at  inter- 
vals and  told  Dolly  how  matters  were  going. 

He  was  not  a  man  like  Vanbrugh,  of  very 
varied  acquaintances  and  wide  experience,  but  in 
certain  quarters  he  had  great  influence,  and  on 
Marion's  behalf  he  exerted  it  to  the  utmost  on  the 
present  occasion.  Foreseeing  that  the  verdict 
must  inevitably  be  unfavourable,  and  knowing 
of  Simon  Darche's  great  anxiety  about  his  son's 
absence,  Brett  succeeded  in  obtaining  an  order 


140  MARION   DARCHE. 

to  bring  John  Darche  to  see  his  father  before 
he  should  be  taken  back"  to  prison  after  the 
conclusion  of  the  trial.  It  was  agreed  that  the 
police  officers  should  appear  dressed  as  civilians, 
and  should  be  introduced  with  John  to  the  old 
man's  presence  as  men  of  business  accompanying 
his  son.  John  would  then  have  the  opportunity 
of  quieting  his  father's  apprehensions  in  regard 
to  his  future  absence,  and  he  could  take  leave- 
of  his  wife  if  he  wished  to  do  so,  though 
of  course  he  would  not  be  allowed  to  be  even 
a  moment  out  of  his  guardians'  sight.  The  order 
was  ostensibly  granted  in  consideration  of  Simon 
Darche's  mental  infirmity,  and  of  the  danger 
to  his  health  which  any  shock  must  cause, 
and  which  already  existed  in  the  shape  of  acute 
anxiety.  In  reality,  the  favour  was  granted  as 
a  personal  one  to  Brett.  When  every  tiling  was 
arranged,  he  returned  to  Lexington  Avenue.  He 
found  Dolly  alone  in  the  library  and  told  her 
what  he  had  done. 

It  was  very  quiet  in  the  room,  and  the  dusk 
was  stealing  away  the  last  glow  of  the  sunset  that 
hung  over  the  trees  and  houses  of  Gramercy  Park. 


MARION  DARCHE.  141 

Dolly  sat  near  the  window,  looking  out,  her  hands 
clasped  upon  one  knee,  her  fair  young  face  very 
grave  and  sad.  Brett  paced  the  floor  nervously. 

"  How  kind  you  are  !  "  Dolly  exclaimed. 

"Kind?"  repeated  the  young  man,  almost  in- 
dignantly, and  stopping  in  his  walk  as  he  spoke. 
"Who  would  not  do  as  much  if  he  could?" 

"Lots  of  people." 

"  Not  of  her  friends  —  not  of  those  who  know 
her.  It  is  little  enough  that  I  can  do  for  any  of 
them.  Yanbrugh  has  done  more  than  I  —  can  do 
much  more." 

"  What  a  fight  he  has  made ! "  The  ready  en- 
thusiasm rang  in  the  girl's  clear  voice.  Then  her 
tone  changed  as  she  continued.  "Yes,"  she  said 
thoughtfully,  "Marion  is  lucky  to  have  such  friends 
as  you  and  Russell  Vanbrugh." 

"And  you  yourself,  Miss  Maylands." 

"I?  Oh,  I  do  not  count.  What  can  a  woman 
do  on  days  like  these?  I  can  only  stay  here 
and  try  to  make  her  feel  that  I  am  a  comfortable 
pillow  for  her  to  lay  her  head  upon,  when  she  is 
1  entirely  worn  out.  Poor  Marion !  She  is  the 
bravest  woman  I  ever  knew.  But  then  — " 


142  MAlllON    DAKCHE. 

She  stopped,  hesitating,  and  Brett,  who  was 
almost  too  much  excited  to  follow  all  the  words 
she  spoke,  was  suddenly  aware  that  she  had  not 
finished  the  sentence. 

"What  were  you  going  to  say?"  he  asked, 
struggling  desperately  to  remember  what  she  had 
said  already. 

"I  hardly  ought  —  I  suppose,"  objected  Dolly. 
"But  then  —  what  can  it  matter?  He  is  sure  to 
be  found  guilty,  is  he  not?" 

"Quite  sure,"  Brett  answered  slowly. 

"Well  then  —  Marion  must  feel  that  when  this 
last  agony  is  over  she  will  have  much  more  peace 
in  her  life  than  she  has  enjoyed  for  a  long  time. 
I  wonder  whether  it  is  very  wrong  to  say  such 
things." 

"Wrong?  Why?  We  all  think  them,  I  am 
sure.  At  least,  you  and  Vanbrugh  and  I  do.  As 
for  society,  I  do  not  know  what  it  thinks.  I  have 
not  had  time  to  ask,  nor  time  to  care,  for  that 
matter." 

"I  suppose  everybody  sympathises  with  Marion 
as  we  do." 

"Oh,  of   course.     Do  you   know?   I   believe  she 


MARION   DARCHE.  143 

will  be  more  popular  than  before.  Everything 
that  has  come  out  in  this  abominable  trial  has 
been  in  her  favour.  People  realise  what  a  life 
she  has  been  living  during  all  these  years  —  with- 
out a  complaint.  Wonderful  woman !  That  brute 
Darche !  I  wish  he  were  to  be  hanged  instead 
of  sent  to  the  Penitentiary  ! " 

"He  deserves  it,"  answered  Dolly  with  the 
utmost  conviction.  "  I  suppose  Marion  will  get 
a  divorce." 

Again  Brett  stopped  short  in  his  walk  and 
looked  at  her  keenly.  The  idea  had  doubtless 
passed  through  his  own  mind,  but  he  had  not 
heard  any  one  else  express  it  as  yet. 

"After  all,"  he  said  slowly,  "there  is  no  reason 
why  she  should  not." 

Then  he  suddenly  relapsed  into  silence  and 
resumed  his  walk. 

"And  then  I  suppose,"  said  Dolly  thoughtfully, 
"she  would  marry  again." 

Brett  said  nothing  to  this,  but  continued  to 
pace  the  floor,  glancing  at  the  young  girl  from 
time  to  time,  and  meditating  on  the  total  de- 
pravity of  innocence. 


144  MARION   DAKCHE. 

"She  might  marry  Russell  Vanbrugh,  for  in- 
stance," observed  Dolly,  as  though  talking  to 
herself. 

This  was  too  much  for  Brett.  For  the  third 
time  he  stopped  and  faced  her. 

"  Why  Vanbrugh,  of  all  people  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Of  all  people,  Mr.  Vanbrugh,  I  should  think," 
Dolly  answered.  "Think  of  what  he  has  done, 
how  devoted  he  has  been  in  all  this  trouble. 
And  then,  the  way  she  spoils  him !  Any  one  can 
see  that  she  is  ready  to  fall  in  love  with  him.  If 
she  were  not  as  good  <as  —  as  anything  can  be  — 
as  spring  water  and  snow  drops  and  angels' 
prayers,  so  to  say,  she  would  be  in  love  with  him 
already.  But  then,  she  is,  you  know." 

"I  cannot  imagine  a  woman  being  in  love  with 
Vanbrugh,"  said  Brett  impatiently. 

"  Oh,  can't  you  ?  I  can.  I  thought  he  was 
your  best  friend." 

"What  has  that  to  do  with  it?  My  best  friend 
might  be  deaf  and  lame  and  blind  of  one  eye." 

"  Also,  he  might  not,"  said  Dolly  with  a 
smile. 

"  Oh,  well ! "  exclaimed  Brett,  turning  away,  "  if 


MARION   DARCHE.  145 

you  have  made  up  your  mind  that  Mrs.  Darche 
is  to  marry  Russell  Vanbrugh,  of  course  I  have 
nothing  to  say.  I  daresay  people  would  think  it 
a  very  good  match." 

"With  John  Darche  alive  and  in  the  Peniten- 
tiary?" inquired  the  young  girl,  instantly  taking 
the  opposite  tack. 

"As  though  any  one  could  care  or  ask  what 
became  of  him ! "  cried  Brett,  with  something  like 
indignation.  "  Thank  heaven  we  are  just  in  this 
country!  We  do  not  visit  the  sins  of  the  black- 
guard upon  the  innocent  woman  he  leaves  behind 
him.  Fortunately,  there  are  no  children.  The 
very  name  will  be  forgotten,  and  Mrs.  Darche 
can  begin  life  over  again." 

"Whoever  marries  her  will  have  to  take  old 
Mr.  Darche  as  an  incumbrance,"  remarked  Dolly. 

"Of  course!  Do  you  suppose  that  such  a 
woman  would  leave  the  poor  old  gentleman  to  be 
taken  care  of  by  strangers?  Besides,  he  is  a  beg- 
gar. He  has  not  so  much  as  pocket-money  for  his 
cigars.  Of  course  Mr.  Darche  will  stay  with  them. 
After  all,  it  will  not  be  so  bad.  He  is  very  quiet 
and  cheerful,  and  never  in  the  way." 

,15— Vol.  9 


146  MARION   DARCHE. 

Brett  spoke  thoughtfully,  in  a  tone  which  con- 
veyed to  Dolly  the  certainty  that  he  had  already 
revolved  the  situation  of  Marion's  future  husband 
in  his  mind. 

"Tell  me,  Mr.  Brett,"  she  said,  after  a  short 
pause,  "will  anybody  say  that  she  should  have 
sacrificed  her  own  little  fortune?" 

"People  may  say  it  as  much  as  they  please," 
answered  the  young  man  quickly.  "No  one  will 
ever  make  me  believe  it." 

"I  thought  conscientious  people  often  did  that 
sort  of  thing." 

"Yes,  they  do.  But  this  does  not  seem  to  me 
to  be  a  case  for  that.  The  bogus  certificates  of 
stocks  never  really  were  on  the  market.  The  first 
that  were  issued  excited  suspicion,  and  proceed- 
ings began  almost  immediately.  Whatever  John 
Darche  actually  stole  was  practically  taken  from 
the  funds  of  the  Company.  Now  the  Company  is 
rich,  and  it  was  its  own  fault  if  it  did  not  look 
after  its  affairs.  In  some  failures,  a  lot  of  poor 
people  suffer.  That  is  different.  It  has  fortunately 
not  happened  here.  The  stock  will  be  depreciated 
for  a  time,  but  the  Company  will  continue  to  exist ' 


MARION   DARCHE.  147 

and  will  ultimately  hold  up  its  head  again.  The 
bonds  are  good  enough.  After  all,  what  is  stock  ? 
Lend  me  some  money  at  your  own  risk  and  if  I 
have  anything  I  will  pay  you  interest.  If  I  have 
nothing,  you  get  nothing.  That  is  what  stock 
means." 

"I  know,"  answered  Dolly,  .whose  clear  little 
brain  had  long  been  familiar  with  the  meanings 
of  common  business  terms.  "Yes,  you  are  quite 
right.  There  is  no  reason  why  Marion  should 
give  anything  of  her  own." 

"None  whatever,"  assented  Brett. 

If  Dolly  drew  any  conclusions  from  what  Brett 
had  said,  she  kept  them  to  herself,  and  a  long 
silence  followed,  which  was  broken  at  last  by  the 
appearance  of  Russell  Vanbrugh,  looking  pale  and 
tired.  He  shook  hands  in  silence  and  sat  down. 

"  I  suppose  it  is  all  over  ?  "  said  Dolly  softly,  in 
a  tone  of  interrogation. 

"Yes,  just  as  we  feared." 

"What  has  he  got?"  inquired  Brett,  lowering 
his  voice  as  though  he  feared  that  Marion  might 
overhear  him,  though  she  was  not  in  the  room. 

"Five  years." 


148  MARION  DARCHE. 

"Is  that  all?"  asked  the  younger  man  almost 
indignantly. 

Vanbrugh  smiled  faintly  at  the  question. 

"I  am  rather  proud  of  it,"  he  answered,  "con- 
sidering that  I  defended  the  case." 

"True,  I  forgot."  Brett  began  to  walk  up  and 
down  again. 

Dolly  looked  at  Vanbrugh  and  nodded  to  him 
with  a  little  smile  as  though  in  approval  of  what 

s 

he  had  done.     He  seemed  pleased  and  grateful. 

"  You  must  be  dreadfully  tired,"  she  said.  "  Do 
let  me  give  you  some  tea." 

"  Thanks  —  I  should  like  some  —  but  some  one 
ought  to  tell  Mrs.  Darche.  Shall  I?  Where  is 
she?" 

"  I  will  tell  her,"  said  Brett  stopping  suddenly. 
"I  will  send  her  a  message  and  she  will  come 
down  to  the  drawing-room." 

He  went  out,  leaving  Dolly  to  comfort  Van- 
brugh with  tea,  for  he  was  far  too  much  excited 
to  sit  down  or  to  listen  to  their  conversation. 
The  whole  matter  might  be  more  or  less  indif- 
ferent to  them,  whose  lives  could  not  be  affected 
directly  by  Mrs.  Darche's  misfortunes,  but  he  felt 


MARION  DARCHE.  149 

that  his  own  happiness  was  in  the  balance.  He 
knew  also  that,  by  the  arrangements  he  had  made, 
John  Darche  would  be  brought  to  the  house  in 
the  course  of  the  next  hour,  before  being  taken 
back  to  prison  for  the  night,  and  it  was  necessary 
to  warn  Marion  and  to  see  that  the  old  gentle- 
man was  prepared  to  receive  his  son. 

"How  about  old  Mr.  Darche?"  inquired  Dolly, 
when  she  and  Vanbrugh  were  left  alone. 

"Every  one  is  sorry  for  him,"  said  Vanbrugh, 
"just  as  every  one  execrates  John.  I  get  very 
little  credit  for  the  defence,"  he  added,  with  a 
dry  laugh. 

"  How  good  you  are ! "  exclaimed  Dolly. 

"Am  I?  It  seems  to  me  it  was  the  least  I 
could  do." 

"It  will  not  seem  so  to  every  one,"  said  Dolly. 

"I  would  do  a  great  deal  for  Mrs.  Darche," 
said  Vanbrugh. 

"  Yes,  I  know  you  would.  You  —  you  are 
very  fond  of  her,  are  you  not?"  She  turned  her 
face  away  as  she  asked  the  question. 

"I  wish  to  be  a  good  friend  to  her." 

"And  something  more?"  suggested  Dolly,  in  a 
tone  of  interrogation. 


150  MARION   DARCHB. 

"  Something   more  ?  "  repeated  Vanbrugh,   "  I  do 
not  understand." 

"Oh  nothing!     I  thought  you  did." 
"  Perhaps  I  did.     But  I  think  you  are  mistaken." 
"Am  I?"  Dolly  asked,  turning  her  face  to  him 
again.     "  I  wish  —  I  mean,  I  do  not  think  I  am." 
"I  am  sure  you  are." 

"This  is  a  good  deal  like  a  puzzle  game,  is  it  not?" 
"No,  it  is  much  more  serious,"  said  Vanbrugh, 
speaking  gravely.  "  This  is  certainly  not  the  time 
to  talk  of  such  things,  Miss  Maylands.  John 
Darche  may  come  at  any  moment,  and  as  far  as 
possible  his  father  has  been  prepared  for  his 
coming.  But  that  isn't  it.  Perhaps  I  had  better 
say  it  at  once.  We  have  always  been  such  good 
friends,  you  know,  and  I  think  a  great  deal  of 
your  good  opinion,  so  that  I  do  not  wish  you  to 
mistake  my  motives.  You  evidently  think  that 
I  am  devoted  —  to  say  the  least  of  it  —  to  Mi's. 
Darche.  After  all,  what  is  the  use  of  choosing 
words  and  beating  about  the  bush?  You  think  I  am 
in  love  with  her.  I  should  be  very  soriy  to  leave 
you  with  that  impression  —  very,  very  sorry.  Do 
you  understand?" 


MARION   DAECHE.  151 

Dolly  had  glanced  at  him  several  times  while 
he  had  been  speaking,  but  when  he  finished  she 
looked  into  the  fire  again. 

"You  were  in  love  with  her  once?"  she  said 
quietly. 

"  Perhaps ;   how  do  you  know  that  ?  " 

"She  told  me  so,  ever  so  long  ago." 

"She  told  you  so?"  Vanbrugh's  tone  betrayed 
his  annoyance. 

"  Yes.  Why  are  you  angry  ?  I  am  her  best 
friend.  Was  it  not  natural  that  she  should  tell 
me?" 

"I  hardly  know." 

A  pause  followed,  during  which  Stubbs  entered 
the  room,  bringing  tea.  When  he  was  gone  and 
Dolly  had  filled  Vanbrugh's  cup  she  took  up  the 
conversation  again. 

"Are  you  thinking  about  it?"  she  asked,  with 
a  smile. 

"  About  what  ? "  Vanbrugh  looked  up  quickly 
over  his  cup. 

"Whether  it  was  natural  or  not?" 

"No,  I  was  wondering  whether  you  would  still 
believe  it." 


152  MARION   DARCHE. 

"Why  should  I?"  asked  Dolly. 

"You  might.  In  spite  of  what  I  tell  you.  You 
know  very  little  of  my  life." 

"  Oh,  I  know  a  great  deal,"  said  the  young  girl 
with  much  conviction.  "I  know  all  about  you. 
You  are  successful,  and  rich  and  popular  and 
happy,  and  lots  of  things." 

"Am  I?"  asked  Vanbrugh  rather  sadly. 

"Yes.     Everybody  knows  you  are." 

"You  are  quite  sure  that  I  am  happy?" 

"Unless  you  tell  me  that  you  are  not." 

"How  oddly  people  judge  us,"  exclaimed  Van- 
brugh. "Because  a  man  behaves  like  a  human 
being,  and  is  not  cross  at  every  turn,  and  puts 
his  shoulder  to  the  wheel,  to  talk  and  be  agree- 
able in  society,  everybody  thinks  he  is  happy." 

"  Of  course."  Dolly  smiled.  "  If  you  were  un- 
happy you  would  go  and  sit  in  corners  by  yourself 
and  mope  and  be  disagreeable.  But  you  do  not, 
you  see.  You  are  always  'on  hand'  as  they  call 
it,  always  ready  to  make  things  pleasant  for  every- 
body." 

"That  is  because  I  am  so  good-natured." 

"  What  is  good  nature  ?  " 


MARION  DARCHE.  153 

"A  combination  of  laziness  and  vulgarity,"  Van- 
brugh  answered  promptly. 

"Oh!" 

"Yes,"  said  Vanbrugh.  "The  vulgarity  that 
wishes  to  please  everybody,  and  the  laziness  that 
cannot  say  no." 

"You  are  not  a  lawyer  for  nothing.  But  you 
are  not  lazy  and  you  are  not  vulgar.  If  you  were 
I  should  not  like  you." 

"Do  you  like  me?"  asked  Vanbrugh  quickly. 

"Very  much,"  she  answered  with  a  little  laugh. 

"You  just  made  me  define  good  nature,  Miss 
Maylands.  How  do  you  define  liking?" 

"Oh,  it  is  very  vague,"  said  Dolly  in  an  airy 
tone.  "It  is  a  sort  of  uncly,  auntly  thing." 

"Oh.     I  see." 

"Do  you?" 

"Uncles  and  aunts  sometimes  marry,  do  they 
not?" 

"What  an  idea?  They  are  always  brothers  and 
sisters." 

"  Unless  they  are  uncles  and  aunts  of  different 
people,"  suggested  Vanbrugh. 

At    this    point    they    were    interrupted   by    the 


154  MARION   DARCHE. 

entrance  of  Stubbs.  That  dignified  functionary 
had  suffered  intensely  during  the  last  few  days, 
but  his  tortures  were  not  yet  over.  So  far  as  lay 
in  his  power  he  still  maintained  that  absolute 
correctness  of  appearance  which  distinguished  him 
from  the  common,  or  hirsute  "  head  man  "  ;  but  he 
could  not  control  the  colour  of  his  face  nor  the 
expression  of  his  eyes.  He  had  been  a  footman 
in  the  house  of  Marion's  father,  in  that  very 
house  in  fact,  and  had  completely  identified  him- 
self with  the  family.  Had  he  considered  that  he 
was  in  the  employment  of  Simon  and  John 
Darche,  he  would  have  long  since  given  notice 
and  sought  a  place  better  suited  to  his  eminent 
respectability.  But  having  always  waited  upon 
Marion  since  she  had  been  a  little  girl,  he  felt 
bound  by  all  the  tenets  of  inherited  butlerdom  — 
and  by  a  sort  of  devotion  not  by  any  means  to 
be  laughed  at  —  to  stand  by  his  young  mistress 
through  all  her  troubles.  By  this  time  his  eyes 
had  a  permanently  unsettled  look  in  them  as 
though  he  never  knew  what  fearful  sight  he 
might  next  gaze  upon,  and  the  ruddy  colour  was 
slowly  but  certainly  sinking  to  the  collar  line.  It 


V 


MARION   DARCHE.  155 

had  already  descended  to  the  lower  tips  of  his 
ears. 

"Beg  pardon,  Miss  Maylands,"  he  said  in  a 
subdued  tone,  "  beg  pardon,  sir.  Mr.  John  has 
come  with  those  gentlemen." 

Both  Dolly  and  Vanbrugh  started  slightly  and 
looked  up  at  him.  Vanbrugh  was  the  first  to 
speak. 

"Do  you  not  think  you  had  better  go  away  — 
to  Mrs.  Darche?"he  asked.  "She  may  want  to 
see  you  for  a  minute." 

Dolly  rose  and  left  the  room. 

"I  suppose  they  will  come  in  here,"  said  Van- 
brugh, addressing  Stubbs. 

"Yes,  sir,"  answered  the  butler  nervously,  "they 
are  coming." 

"Well  — let  us  make  the  best  of  it."  ' 

A  moment  later  John  Darche  catered  the  room, 
followed  closely  by  three  men,  evidently  dressed 
for  the  occasion,  according  to  superior  orders,  in 
what,  at  police  head-quarters,  was  believed  to  be 
the  height  of  the  fashion,  for  they  all  wore  light 
snuff-coloured  overcoats,  white  ties,  dark  trousers 
and  heavily-varnished  shoes,  and  each  had  a  per- 


156  MARION   DARCHE. 

fectly  new  high  hat  in  his  hand.  They  looked 
about  the  room  with  evident  curiosity. 

Darche  himself  was  deathly  pale  and  had  grown 
thinner.  Otherwise  he  was  little  changed.  As 
soon  as  he  caught  sight  of  Vanbrugh,  he  came 
forward,  extending  his  hand. 

"I  have  not  had  a  chance  to  thank  you  for 
your  able  defence,"  he  said  calmly. 

"It  is  not  necessary,"  answered  Vanbrugh 
coldly,  and  putting  his  hands  behind  him  as  he 
leaned  against  the  mantelpiece.  "It  was  a  matter 
of  duty." 

"Very  well,"  said  John  Darche  stiffly,  and 
drawing  back  a  step.  "  If  you  do  not  want  to 
shake  hands  we  will  treat  it  as  a  matter  of  busi- 
ness." 

"  He  is  pretty  fresh,  ain't  he  ?  "  remarked  one  of 
the  officers  in  an  undertone  to  his  neighbour. 

"You  bet  he  is,"  answered  the  other. 

"  Now  I  have  got  to  see  the  old  gentleman,"  said 
.Darche,  speaking  to  Vanbrugh.  "Before  I  go,  I 
would  like  to  have  a  word  with  you.  There  is  no 
objection  to  my  speaking  privately  to  Mr.  Vanbrugh, 
I  suppose  ?  "  he  inquired,  turning  to  the  officer. 


MARION  DABCHE.  157 

"Not  if  you  stay  in  the  room,"  answered  the  one 
who  took  the  lead. 

Darche  nodded  to  Vanbrugh,  who  somewhat 
reluctantly  followed  him  to  the  other  end  of  the 
room. 

"I  say,"  he  began  in  a  tone  not  to  be  overheard 
by  the  detectives.  "Can  you  not  give  me  another 
chance  ?  " 

"What  sort  of  chance?"  replied  Vanbrugh, 
raising  his  eyebrows. 

"If  I  could  get  through  that  door,"  said  John 
looking  over  Vanbrugh's  shoulder,  "I  could  get 
away.  I  know  the  house  and  they  do  not. 
Presently,  when  my  father  comes,  if  you  could 
create  some  sort  of  confusion  for  a  moment,  I 
could  slip  out.  They  will  never  catch  me.  There 
is  an  Italian  sailing  vessel  just  clearing.  I  have 
had  exact  information.  If  I  can  get  through  that 
door  I  can  be  in  the  Sixth  Avenue  Elevated  in 
three  minutes  and  out  of  New  York  Harbour  in 
an  hour." 

Vanbrugh  had  no  intention  of  being  a  party 
to  the  escape.  He  met  Darche's  eyes  coldly  as  he 
answered. 


158  MARION   DARCHE. 

"  No,  I  will  not  do  it.  I  have  defended  you  in 
open  court,  but  I  am  not  going  to  help  you  evade 
the  law." 

"Do  not  be  too  hard,  Vanbrugh,"  said  Darche, 
in  a  tone  of  entreaty.  "Things  are  not  half  so 
bad  as  they  are  made  out." 

"  If  that  is  true,  I  am  sorry.  But  you  have 
had  a  perfectly  fair  trial." 

"Will  you  not  help  me  get  away?"  Darche 
urged  knowing  that  this  was  his  last  chance. 

"No." 

"Vanbrugh,"  said  John  in  an  insinuating  tone, 
"you  used  to  be  fond  of  my  wife.  You  wanted 
to  marry  her." 

"What  has  that  to  do  with  it?"  asked  Van- 
brugh turning  sharply  upon  him. 

"You  may  marry  her  and  welcome,  if  you  let 
me  get  through  that  door.  I  shall  never  be  heard 
of  again." 

"  You  infernal  scoundrel ! "  Vanbrugh  was 
thoroughly  disgusted.  "Now  gentlemen,"  he  said, 
turning  to  the  officer  in  charge,  "I  will  bring  Mr. 
Darche  here  to  see  his  son.  I  am  sure  that  for 
the  old  gentleman's  sake,  out  of  mere  humanity, 


MARION   DARCHE.  159 

you  will  do  the  best  you  can  to  keep  up  the 
illusion  we  have  arranged.  He  is  old  and  his 
mind  wanders.  He  will  scarcely  notice  your 
presence." 

"Yes,  sir,"  the  man  answered.  "You  may  trust 
us  to  do  that,  sir.  Now  then,  boys,"  he  said, 
addressing  his  two  companions,  "straighten  up, 
best  company  manners,  stiff  upper  lip  —  keep  your 
eye  on  the  young  man.  He  is  rather  too  near 
that  door  for  my  taste." 

John  Darche's  face  expressed  humiliation  and 
something  almost  approaching  to  despair.  He  was 
about  to  make  another  attempt,  and  had  moved  a 
step  towards  Vanbrugh,  when  he  suddenly  started 
a  little  and  stood  still.  Marion  stood  in  the  open 
door  beyond  three  detectives.  She  touched  one 
of  them  on  the  shoulder  as  a  sign  that  she  wished 
to  pass. 

"Pardon  me,  lady,"  said  the  man,  drawing 
back.  "  Anything  that  we  can  do  for  you  ?  " 

"  I  am  Mrs.  Darche.  I  wish  to  speak  to  my 
husband." 

"Certainly,  madam,"  and  all  three  made  way 
for  her. 


160  MARION   DARCHB. 

She  went  straight  to  her  husband,  and  stood 
before  him  at  the  other  end  of  the  room,  speak- 
ing in  a  low  voice. 

"Is  there  anything  I  can  do  for  you,  John?" 
she  asked  so  that  he  could  barely  hear  her. 

"You  can  help  me  to  get  away — if  you  will." 
John  Darche's  eyes  fell  before  hers. 

She  gazed  at  him  during  several  seconds, 
hesitating,  perhaps,  between  her  sense  of  justice 
and  her  desire  to  be  faithful  to  her  husband 
to  the  very  end. 

"  Yes,  I  will,"  she  said  briefly. 

Before  she  spoke  again  she  turned  quite  natu- 
rally, as  though  in  hesitation,  and  satisfied  herself 
that  the  three  men  were  out  of-  hearing.  Van- 
brugh,  perhaps  suspecting  what  was  taking  place, 
had  engaged  them  in  conversation  near  the  door. 

"How?"  she  asked,  looking  at  John  again. 
"Tell  me  quickly." 

"Presently,  -when  my  father  comes,  get  as 
many  people  as  you  can.  Let  ine  be  alone  for 
a  moment.  Make  some  confusion,  upset  some- 
thing, anything  will  do.  Give  me  a  chance  to 
get  through  the  door  into  the  library." 


MARION  DAKCHB.  161 

"I  will  try.     Is  that  all?" 

"Thank  you,"  said  John  Darche,  and  for  one 
moment  a  look  of  something  like  genuine  grati- 
tude passed  over  his  hard  face.  "Yes,  that  is  all. 
You  will  be  glad  to  get  rid  of  me." 

Marion  looked  one  moment  longer,  hesitated, 
said  nothing  and  turned  away. 

"If  you  have  no  objections,"  said  Vanbrugh 
addressing  the  officer  in  charge,  "we  will  take 
Mr.  Darche  to  his  father's  room  instead  of  asking 
him  to  come  here." 

"Yes,  sir,"  answered  the  detective.  "We  can 
do  that." 

As  they  were  about  to  leave  the  room,  Brett 
met  them  at  the  door.  He  paused  a  moment 
and  looked  about.  Then  he  went  straight  to 
Vanbrugh. 

"Has  he  seen  him  yet?"  he  asked. 

"No,  we  are  just  going,"  answered  Vanbrugh. 

"Can  I  be  of  any  use?" 

"Stay  with  Mrs.  Darche." 

"Shall  we  go?"  he  asked,  turning  to  John. 

"  How  brave  you  are ! "  exclaimed  Brett  when 
they  were  alone. 


162  MARION   DARCHE. 

"  Does  it  need  much  courage  ? "  asked  Marion, 
sinking  into  a  chair.  "I  do  not  know.  Perhaps." 

"I  know  that  there  are  not  many  men  who 
could  bear  all  this  as  well  as  you  do,"  Brett 
answered,  and  there  was  a  little  emotion  in  his 
face. 

"Men  are  different.  Mr.  Brett  — "  she  began 
after  a  short  pause. 

"  Yes,  do  you  want  to  ask  me  something  ? " 

"Yes,  something  that  is  very  hard  to  ask. 
Something  that  you  will  refuse." 

"  That  would  be  hard  indeed." 

"  Will  you  promise  not  to  be  angry  ? "  asked 
Marion  faintly. 

"  Of  course  I  will,"  Brett  answered. 

"  Do  not  be  so  sure.  Men's  honour  is  such  a 
strange  thing.  You  may  think  what  I  am  going 
to  ask  touches  it." 

"What  is  it?" 

He  sat  down  beside  her  and  prepared  to  listen. 

"  Will  you  help  my  husband  to  escape  ? "  asked 
Marion  in  a  whisper.  "No — do  not  say  it.  Wait 
until  I  tell  you  first  how  it  can  be  done.  Pres- 
ently I  will  get  them  all  into  this  room.  Old  Mr. 


MARION  DARCHE.  163 

Darche  is  too  ill  to  come,  I  am  afraid.  You  have 
not  spoken  alone  to  John  yet.  Take  him  aside 
and  bring  him  close  to  this  door  on  pretence 
of  exchanging  a  few  words.  I  will  make  a 
diversion  of  some  sort  at  the  other  end  of  the 
room  and  as  they  all  look  round  he  can  slip  out. 
If  he  has  one  minute's  start  they  will  never  see 
him  again.  Will  you  do  it?" 

"  You   were   right,"   said   Brett   gravely.     "  It  is 
a  hard  thing  to  ask." 

"Will  you  do  it?" 

"  It  is  criminal,"  he  answered. 

"Will  you  do  it?" 

"  For    God's    sake,    give    me    time    to    think ! " 
He  passed  his  hand  over  his  eyes. 

"  There    is    no    time,"    said    Marion    anxiously. 
"  Will  you  do  it  for  me  ?  " 
'  "How  can  I?   how  can  I?" 

"You    told   me   that    you   loved   me    the    other 
day  —  will  you  do  it  for  my  sake?" 

A  change  came  over  Brett's  face. 

"  For  your  sake  ?  "  he  asked  in  an  altered  tone. 
"  Do  you  mean  it  ?  " 

"  Yes.     For  my  sake." 


164  MARION   DARCHE. 

"  Very  well.  I  will  do  it."  He  turned  a  little 
pale  and  closed  one  hand  over  the  other. 

"Thank  you  —  thank  you,  Harry."  Her  voice 
lingered  a  little,  as  she  pronounced  his  name. 
"  Stay  here.  I  will  make  them  come.  It  is  of 
no  use  to  leave  them  there.  It  is  a  mere  for- 
mality, at  best." 

"I  am  ready,"  said  Brett,  rising. 

Marion  left  her  seat,  and  crossing  the  room 
again  tried  the  door  in  question  to  satisfy  herself 
that  it  would  open  readily.  She  looked  out  into 
the  passage  beyond  and  then  came  back,  and 
passing  Brett  without  a  word  left  the  room. 

She  was  not  gone  long,  and  during  the  minutes 
of  her  absence  Brett  tried  hard  not  to  think  of 
what  he  was  going  to  do.  He  could  not  but  be 
aware  that  it  was  a  desperately  serious  matter  to 
help  a  convicted  criminal  to  escape.  He  thought 
of  the  expression  he  had  seen  on  Marion's  face 
when  he  had  promised  to  do  it,  and  of  the  soft 
intonation  of  her  sweet  voice,  and  he  tried  to 
think  of  nothing  else. 

In  a  moment  more  she  was  in  the  room  again 
leading  old  Mr.  Darche  forward,  his  arm  linked 


MARION  DARCHE.  165 

in  hers.  John  came  in  on  his  father's  other  side, 
while  Vanbrugh  and  the  three  officers  followed. 

"  I  understand,  I  understand,  my  boy,"  cried 
old  Darche  in  his  cheery  voice.  "  It  is  a  grand 
thing." 

John  was  very  pale  as  he  answered,  and  was 
evidently  making  a  great  effort  to  speak  lightly. 

"  Yes,  of  course.  It  has  turned  out  much 
simpler  than  we  expected,  however,  thanks  to 
your  immense  reputation,  father.  Without  your 
name  we  could  not  have  done  it,  could  we,  gen- 
tlemen ?•"  he  asked,  turning  to  the  detectives  as 
though  appealing  to  them. 

"No,  guess  not,"  answered  the  three  together. 

"  Good  God,  what  a  scene ! "  exclaimed  Brett 
under  his  breath. 

"Mr.  Brett,"  said  Marion  approaching  him. 
"You  said  you  wanted  to  speak  to  my  husband. 
Now  you  must  tell  me  all  about  it,  father,"  she 
continued,  drawing  the  old  gentleman  towards  the 
fire.  "I  do  not  half  understand  in  all  this  confu- 
sion." 

"  Why  it  is  as  plain  as  day,  child,"  said  Simon 
Darche,  ever  ready  to  explain  a  matter  of  business. 


166  MARION   DARCHE. 

"The  second  mortgage  of  a  million  and  a  half  to 
square  everything.     Come  here,  come  close   to  the 
fire,  my  hands  are  cold.     I  think  I  must  have  been- 
ill." 

"You  would  never  think  Mr.  Darche  had  been 
ill,  would  you,  gentlemen  ? "  asked  Marion,  appeal- 
ing again  to  the  detectives. 

"No,  guess  not,"  they  answered  in  chorus. 

Meanwhile  Brett  led  Darche  across  the  room, 
talking  to  him  in  a  loud  tone  until  they  were  near 
the  door. 

"  Your  wife  will  make  some  diversion  presently," 
he  whispered.  "I  do  not  know  how.  When  she 
does,  make  for  that  door  and  get  out." 

"  Thank  you,  thank  you,"  said  John  with  genuine 
fervour,  and  his  face  lighted  up.  "  God  bless  you, 
Brett!" 

"Do  not  thank  me,"  answered  Brett  roughly. 
"  I  do  not  want  to  do  it.  Thank  your  wife." 

"Oh!"  exclaimed  John  Darche,  and  his  eyelids 
contracted.  "  My  wife  !  Is  it  for  her  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"I  will  remember  that.  I  will  remember  it  as 
long  as  I  live." 


MARION   DAKCHE.  167 

Brett  never  forgot  the  look  which  accompanied 
the  words. 

"  Well,  be  grateful  to  her  anyhow,"  he  said. 

At  that  moment  a  piercing  scream  rang  through 
the  room.  Marion  Darche,  while  talking  to  her 
father-in-law,  had  been  standing  quite  close  to  the 
fire.  When  Brett  turned  his  head  the  front  of  her 
dress  was  burning  with  a  slow  flame  and  she  was 
making  desperate  efforts  to  tear  it  from  her. 

"  Good  Heavens,  you  are  really  burning ! "  cried 
Brett  as  he  crushed  the  flaming  stuff  with  his  bare 
hands,  regardless  of  the  consequences  to  himself. 

"  Did  you  think  that  I  cried  out  in  fun  ?  "  asked 
Marion  calmly. 

On  hearing  his  wife's  cry  John  Darche  had 
bestowed  but  one  glance  upon  her.  It  mattered 
but  little  to  him  that  she  was  really  on  fire.  The 
detectives  had  rushed  to  her  assistance  and  for  one 
moment  no  one  was  looking.  He  was  close  to  the 
door.  A  moment  later  he  had  left  the  room  and 
turned  the  key  behind  him. 

"  My  God ! "  exclaimed  the  officer  in  charge, 
suddenly.  "  He  has  gone !  Run,  boys !  Stop ! 
One  of  you  take  the  old  one.  We  will  not  lose 
them  both." 


168  MARION  DARCHE. 

Old  Darche  started  as  though  he  had  suddenly 
been  waked  out  of  a  deep  sleep,  and  his  voice  rang 
out  loud  and  clear. 

"Hey,  what  is  this?"  he  cried.  "Hello!  De- 
tectives in  my  house  ?  Disguised  too  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  answered  one  of  the  detectives, 
seizing  him  by  the  wrist  just  as  the  other  two 
left  the  room  in  pursuit  of  John  Darche.  "  And 
one  of  them  has  got  you."  - 

"Got  me!"  roared  the  old  man.  "Hands  off, 
there  !  What  do  you  mean  ?  Damn  you,  sir,  let 
me  go  ! " 

"Oh,  well,"  replied  the  officer  calmly,  "if  you 
are  going  to  take  on  like  that,  you  may  just  as 
well  know  that  your  son  was  tried  and  convicted 
for  forgery  to-day.  Not  that  I  believe  that  you 
had  anything  to  do  with  it,  but  he  is  a  precious 
rascal  all  the  same,  and  has  escaped  from  your 
house  —  " 

"  I !  Forgery  The  man  is  mad !  John,  where 
are  you?  Brett!  Vanbrugh!  Help  me,  gentle- 
men!" 

He  appealed  to  Brett,  and  then  to  Vanbrugh 
who,  indeed,  was  doing  his  best  to  draw  the  officer 
away. 


MARION   DABCHE.  169 

"No,  no,"  answered  the  latter  firmly.  "I've 
got  one  of  them  —  it's  all  in  the  family." 

Though  Marion's  dress  was  still  smouldering 
and  Brett  was  on  his  knees  trying  to  extinguish 
the  last  spark  with  his  own  hands,  she  forgot 
her  own  danger,  and  almost  tearing  herself  away 
from  Brett  she  clasped  the  policeman's  hand  try- 
ing to  drag  it  from  Simon  Darche's  shoulder. 

"  Oh,  sir,"  she  cried  in  tearful  entreaty,  "  pray 
let  him  go !  He  is  innocent  —  he  is  ill !  He  will 
not  think  of  escaping.  Don't-  you  see  that  we 
have  kept  it  all  from  him?" 

"Kept  it  all  from  me?"  asked  the  old  gentle- 
man fiercely  turning  upon  her.  "  What  do  you 
mean?  Where  is  John?  Where  is  John?  I 
say!" 

"In  handcuffs  by  this  time  I  guess,"  said  the 
detective  calmly. 

"  But  I  insist  upon  knowing  what  all  this 
means,"  continued  old  Darche,  growing  more  and 
more  excited,  while  the  veins  of  his  temples 
swelled  to  bursting.  "  Forgery !  Trial !  Convic- 
tion !  John  escaping !  Am  I  dreaming  ?  Are  not 
you  three  directors  of  the  other  road?  Good  God, 

16— Vol.  9 


170  MARION    DARCHE. 

young  man,  speak ! "  He  seized  Brett  by  the 
collar  in  his  excitement. 

"  Pray  be  calm,  sir,  pray  be  calm,"  answered 
the  young  man,  trying  to  loosen  the  policeman's 
sturdy  grasp. 

By  a  tremendous  effort,  such  as  madmen  make 
in  supreme  moments,  the  old  man  broke  loose, 
and  seizing  Marion  by  the  wrist  dragged  her  half 
across  the  room  while  he  spoke.  "  Tell  me  this 
thing  is  all  a  lie ! "  he  cried,  again  and  again. 

"The  lady  knows  the  truth  well  enough,  sir," 
said  the  policeman,  coming  up  behind  him.  "  She 
caught  fire  just  right." 

For  one  moment  Simon  Darche  stood  upright 
in  the  middle  of  the  room,  looking  from  one  to 
the  other  with  wild  frightened  eyes. 

"  Oh,  it  is  true ! "  he  cried  in  accents  of 
supreme  agony.  "  John  has  disgraced  himself ! 
Oh,  my  son,  my  son  !  " 

One  instant  more,  and  the  light  in  his  eyes 
broke,  he  threw  out  his  arms  and  fell  straight 
backwards  against  the  detective.  Simon  Darche 
was  dead. 


CHAPTER 

THERE  was  no  lack  of  sympathy  for  Marion 
Darche,  and  it  was  shown  in  many  ways  during 
the  period  of  calm  which  succeeded  her  husband's 
disappearance  and  the  sudden  death  of  his  father. 
Every  one  was  anxious  to  be  first  in  showing  the 
lonely  woman  that  she  was  not  alone,  but  that, 
on  the  contrary,  those  who  had  been  her  friends 
formerly  were  more  ready  than  ever  to  proclaim 
the  fact  now,  and,  so  far  as  they  were  able,  not 
in  words  only,  but  in  deeds  also. 

She  was  relieved,  all  at  once,  of  the  many 
burdens  which  had  oppressed  her  life  during  the 
past  years  — indeed,  she  sometimes  caught  herself 
missing  the  constant  sacrifice,  the  daily  effort  of 
subduing  her  temper,  the  hourly  care  for  the 
doting  old  man  who  was  gone. 

But  with  all  this,  there  was  the  consciousness 
that  she  was  not  altogether  free.  Somewhere  in 
the  world,  John  Darche  was  still  alive,  a  fugitive, 

171 


172  MARION   DARCHE. 

a  man  for  whose  escape  a  reward  was  offered.  It 
was  worse  than  widowhood  to  be  bound  to  a 
husband  who  was  socially  dead.  It  would  have 
been  easier  to  bear  if  he  had  never  escaped,  and 
if  he  were  simply  confined  in  the  Penitentiary. 
There  would  not  have  been  the  danger  of  his 
coming  back  stealthily  by  night,  which  Marion 
felt  was  not  imaginary  so  long  as  he  was  at 
large. 

Yet  she  made  no  effort  to  obtain  a  divorce 
from  the  man  whose  name  was  a  disgrace.  On 
the  contrary,  so  far  as  outward  appearances  were 
concerned,  she  made  no  change,  or  very  little,  in 
her  life.  Public  opinion  had  been  with  her  from 
the  first,  and  society  chose  to  treat  her  as  a  young 
widow,  deserving  every  sympathy,  who  when  the 
time  of  mourning  should  have  expired,  would 
return  to  the  world,  and  open  her  doors  to  it. 

There  was  a  great  deal  of  speculation  as  to  the 
reasons  which  prevented  her  from  taking  steps  to 
free  herself,  but  no  one  guessed  what  really  passed 
in  her  mind,  any  more  than  the  majority  of  her 
acquaintances  understood  that  she  had  once  loved 
"John  Darche.  It  had  been  commonly  said  for 


MARION   DARCHE.  173 

years  that  she  had  married  him  out  of  disappoint- 
ment because  something  had  prevented  her  from 
marrying  another  man,  usually  supposed  to  have 
been  Russell  Vanbrugh.  People  attributed  to  her 
a  greater  complication  oj:  motives  than  she  could 
have  believed  possible. 

In  order  not  to  be  altogether  alone,  she  took 
a  widowed  cousin  to  live  with  her  —  a  Mrs. 
Willoughby,  who  soon  became  known  to  her  more 
intimate  friends  as  Cousin  Annie.  She  was  a 
gray,  colourless  woman,"  much  older  than  Marion, 
kind  of  heart  but  not  very  "wise,  insignificant  but 
refined,  a  moral  satisfaction  and  an  intellectual 
disappointment,  accustomed  to  the  world,  but  not 
understanding  it,  good  by  nature  and  charitable, 
and  educated  in  religious  forms  to  which  she 
clung  by  habit  and  association  rather  than  be- 
cause they  represented  anything  to  her.  Cousin 
Annie  was  one  of  those  fortunate  beings  whom 
temptation  overlooks,  passing  by  on  the  other 
side,  who  can  suffer  in  a  way  for  the  loss  of  those 
dear  to  them,  but  whose  mourning  does  not  reach 
the  dignity  of  sorrow,  nor  the  selfish  power  of 
grief. 


174  MARION  D  ARC  HE. 

Marion  did  not  feel  the  need  of  a  more  com- 
plicated and  gifted  individuality  for  companion- 
ship. On  the  contrary,  it  was  a  relief  to  her  to 
have  some  one  at  her  side  for  whom  she  was  not 
expected  to  think,  but  who,  on  the  contrary, 
thought  for  her  in  all  the  commonplace  matters 
of  life,  and  never  acted  otherwise  than  as  a 
normal,  natural,  human  unit.  There  had  been 
enough  of  the  unusual  in  the  house  in  Lexington 
Avenue,  and  Marion  was  glad  that  it  was  gone. 

Three  months  passed  in  this  way  and  the 
spring  was  far  advanced.  Then,  suddenly  and 
without  warning,  came  the  news  that  John  Darche 
had  been  heard  of,  traced,  seen  at  last  and  almost 
captured.  He  had  escaped  once  more  and  this 
time  he  had  escaped,  for  ever,  by  his  own  act. 
He  had  jumped  overboard  in  the  English  Channel 
from  the  Calais  boat,  and  his  body  had  not  been 
found. 

Mrs.  Darche  wore  black  for  her  husband,  and 
Cousin  Annie  said  it  was  very  becoming.  Dolly 
Maylands  thought  it  absurd  to  put  on  even  the 
appearance  of  mourning  for  such  a  creature,  and 
said  so. 


MARION  DARCHE.  175 

"  My  dear  child,"  answered  Marion  gently,  "  he 
was  my  husband." 

"I  never  can  realise  it,"  said  Dolly.  "Do  you 
remember,  I  used  to  ask  you  if  you  did  not  some- 
times forget  it  yourself?  " 

"I  never  forgot  it."  Mrs.  Darche's  voice  had  a 
wonderful  gravity  in  it,  without  the  least  sadness. 
She  was  a  woman  without  affectation. 

"No,"  said  Dolly  thoughtfully,  "I  suppose  you 
never  had  a  chance.  It  is  of  no  use,  Marion  dear," 
she  added  after  a  little  pause,  and  in  a  different 
tone,  as  though  she  were  tired  of  pretending  a 
sort  of  subdued  sympathy,  "  it  is  of  no  use  at  all ! 
I  can  never  be  sorry,  you  know  —  so  that  ends  it. 
Why,  just  think  !  You  are  free  to  marry  any  one 
you  please,  to  begin  life  over  again.  How  many 
women  in  your  position  ever  had  such  a  chance? 
Not  but  what  you  would  have  been  just  as  free 
if  you  had  got  a  divorce.  But  —  somehow,  this 
is  much  more  solidly  satisfactory.  Yes,  I  know  — 
it  is  horrid  and  unchristian  —  but  there  is  just 
that  —  there  is  a  solid  satisfaction  in — " 

She  was  going  to  say  "in  death,"  but  thought 
better  of  it  and  checked  herself. 


176  MARION   DARCHE. 

"It  will  not  make  very  much  difference  to  me 
just  yet,"  said  Marion.  "Meanwhile,  as  I  said,  he 
was  my  husband.  I  shall  wear  mourning  a  short 
time,  and  then  —  then  I  do  not  know  what  I  shall 
do." 

"  It  must  be  very  strange,"  answered  Dolly. 

"What,  child?" 

"Your  life.  Now  you  need  not  call  me  child 
in  that  auntly  tone,  as  though  you  were  five 
hundred  thousand  years  older  and  wiser  and  duller 
than  I  am.  There  are  not  six  years  between  our 
ages,  you  know."  - 

"  Do  not  resent  being  young,  Dolly." 

"  Resent  it !  No,  indeed !  I  resent  your  way  of 
making  yourself  out  to  be  old.  In  the  pages  of 
future  history  we  shall  be  spoken  of  as  contem- 
poraries." 

Mrs.  Darche  smiled,  and  Dolly  laughed. 

"School-book  style,"  said  the  girl.  "That  is  my 
morning  manner.  In  the  evening  I  am  quite 
different,  thank  goodness !  But  to  go  back  — 
what  I  meant  was  that  your  own  life  must  seem 
very  strange  to  you.  To  have  loved  really  —  of 
course  you  did  —  why  should  you  deny  it  ?  And 


MARION  DARCHB.  177 

then  to  have  made  the  great  mistake  and  to  have 
married  the  wrong  man,  and  to  have  been  good 
and  to  have  put  up  the  shutters  of  propriety 
and  virtue  —  so  to  say,  and  to  have  kept  up  a 
sort  of  Sunday-go-to-meeting  myth  for  years,  ex- 
pecting to  do  it  for  the  rest  of  your  life,  and 
then  —  to  have  the  luck  —  well,  no,  I  did  not 
mean  to  put  it  that  way  —  but  to  begin  life  all 
over  again,  and  the  man  you  loved  not  married 
yet,  and  just  as  anxious  to  marry  you  as  ever  — " 

"  Stop,  Dolly !  How  do  you  know  ? "  Marion 
knit  her  brows  in  annoyance. 

"  Oh !  I  know  nothing,  of  course.  I  can  only 
guess.  But  then,  it  is  easy  to  guess,  sometimes." 

"I  am  not  so  sure,"  answered  Marion  thought- 
fully, and  looking  at  Dolly  with  some  curiosity. 

As  for  Brett,  he  said  nothing  to  any  one,  when 
the  news  of  John  Darche's  death  reached  New 
York.  He  supposed  that  people  would  take  it  for 
granted  that  in  the  course  of  time  he  would  marry 
Marion,  because  the  world  knew  that  he  had 
formerly  loved  her,  and  that  she  had  made  a 
mistake  in  not  accepting  him  and  would  proba- 
bly be  quite  willing  to  rectify  it  now  that  she 


178  MARION   DARCHB. 

was  free.  There  had  always  been  a  certain 
amount  of  inoffensive  chaff  about  his  devotion 
to  her  interests.  But  he  himself  was  very  far 
from  assuming  that  she  would  take  him  now. 
He  knew  her  better  than  the  world  did,  and 
understood  the  unexpected  hesitations  and  revul- 
sions of  which  she  was  capable,  much  better  than 
the  world  could. 

He  took  a  hopeful  view,  however,  as  was 
natural.  For  the  present  he  waited  and  said 
nothing.  If  she  chose  to  go  through  the  form 
of  mourning,  he  would  go  through  the  form  of 
respecting  it  while  it  lasted.  Society  is  the 
better  for  most  of  its  conventionalities,  a  fact  of 
which  one  may  easily  assure  oneself  by  spending 
a  little  time  in  circles  that  make  bold  to  laugh 
at  appearances.  A  man  may  break  the  social 
barriers  for  a  great  object's  sake,  or  out  of  true 
passion  —  as  sheer  necessity  may  force  a  man  to 
sleep  by  the  road  side.  But  a  man  who  habit- 
ually makes  his  bed  in  the  gutter  by  choice  is 
a  madman,  and  one  who  thinks  himself  above 
manners  and  conventionalities  is  generally  a  fool. 
There  is  nothing  more  intolerable  than  eccen- 


MARION   DARCHB.  179 

tricity  for  its  own  sake,  nor  more  pitiful  than 
the  perpetual  acting  of  it  to  a  gallery  that  will 
not  applaud. 

For  some  time  Brett  continued  to  come  and 
see  Marion  regularly,  and  she  did  not  hesitate 
to  show  him  that  he  was  as  welcome  as  ever. 
Then,  without  any  apparent  cause,  his  manner 
changed.  He  became  much  more  grave  than  he 
had  ever  been  before,  and  those  who  knew  him 
well  were  struck  by  an  alteration  in  his  appear- 
ance, not  easily  denned  at  first,  but  soon  visible 
to  any  one.  He  was  growing  pale  and  thin. 

Vanbrugh  strolled  into  his  office  on  a  warm 
day  in  early  June  and  sat  down  for  a  chat. 
Brett's  inner  sanctum  was  in  the  Equitable 
Building,  measured  twelve  feet  by  eight,  and 
was  furnished  so  as  to  leave  a  space  of  about 
six  feet  by  four  in  the  middle,  just  enough 
for  two  chairs  and  the  legs  of  the  people  who 
sat  in  them.  Vanbrugh  looked  at  his  friend  and 
came  to  the  just  conclusion  that  something  was 
materially  wrong  with  him. 

"Brett,"  he  said,  suddenly,  "let  us  run  over  to 
Paris." 


180  MARION   DARCHE. 

"  I  cannot  leave  New  York  at  present,"  Brett 
answered,  without  hesitation,  as  though  he  had 
already  considered  the  question  of  going  abroad. 

"Not  being  able  to  leave  New  York  is  a  more 
or  less  dangerous  disease  which  kills  a  great  many 
people,"  observed  Vanbrugh.  "You  must  leave 
New  York,  whether  you  can  or  not.  I  do  not 
know  whether  you  are  ill  or  not,  but  you  look 
like  an  imperfectly  boiled  owl." 

"I  know  I  do.     I  want  a  change." 

"  Then  come  along." 

"No,  I  cannot  leave  New  York.  I  am  not 
joking,  my  dear  fellow." 

"I  see  you  are  not.  I  suppose  it  is  of  no  use 
to  ask  what  is  the  matter.  If  you  wanted  help 
you  would  say  so.  You  evidently  have  something 
on  your  mind.  Anything  I  can  do  ?  " 

"No,  I  wish  there  were.  I  will  tell  you  some 
day.  It  is  something  rather  odd  and  unusual." 

Brett  was  not  an  imaginative  man,  or  Vanbrugh, 
judging  from  his  appearance  and  manner,  would 
almost  have  suspected  that  he  was  suffering  from 
some  persecution  not  quite  natural  or  earthly. 
He  had  the  uneasy  glance  of  a  man  who  fancies 


MAEION  DAECHB.  181 

himself  haunted  by  a  sight  he  fears  to  see. 
Vanbrugh  looked  at  him  a  long  time  in  silence 
and  then  rose  to  go. 

"I  am  sorry,  old  man,"  he  said,  with  something 
almost  like  a  sigh.  "  You  live  too  much  alone," 
he  added,  turning  as  he  was  about  to  open  the 
door.  "You  ought  to  get  married." 

Brett  smiled  in  rather  a  ghastly  fashion  which 
did  not  escape  his  friend. 

"I  cannot  leave  New  York,"  he  repeated 
mechanically. 

"Perhaps  you  will  before  long,"  said  Vanbrugh, 
going  out.  "I  would  if  I  were  you." 

He  went  away  in  considerable  perplexity. 
Something  in  Brett's  manner  puzzled  him  and 
almost  frightened  him.  As  a  lawyer,  and  one 
accustomed  to  dealing  with  the  worst  side  of 
human  nature,  he  was  inclined  to  play  the 
detective  for  a  time ;  as  a  friend,  he  resolved 
not  to  inquire  too  closely  into  a  matter  which 
did  not  concern  him.  In  fact,  he  had  already 
gone  further  than  he  had  intended.  Only  a 
refined  nature  can  understand  the  depth  of  deg- 
radation to  which  curiosity  can  reduce  friendship. 


182  MARION   DARCHE. 

A  day  or  two  later  Vanbrugh  met  Dolly  May- 
lands  at  a  house  in  Tuxedo  Park  where  he  had 
come  to  dine  and  spend  the  night.  There  were 
enough  people  at  the  dinner  to  insure  a  little 
privacy  to  those  who  had  anything  to  say  to  one 
another. 

"  Brett  is  ill,"  said  Vanbrugh.  "  Do  you  know 
what  is  the  matter  with  him?" 

"  I  suppose  Marion  has  refused  him  after  all," 
answered  Dolly,  looking  at  her  plate. 

Vanbrugh  glanced  at  her  face  and  thought  she 
was  a  little  pale.  He  remembered  the  conversa- 
tion when  they  had  been  left  together  in  the 
library  after  John  Darche's  trial,  and  was  glad 
that  he  had  then  spoken  cautiously,  for  he  con- 
nected her  change  of  colour  with  himself,  by  a 
roundabout  and  complicated  reasoning  more  easy 
to  be  understood  than  to  explain. 

"Perhaps  she  has,"  he  said  coolly.  "But  I  do 
not  think  it  is  probable." 

"  Mv.  Brett  does  not  go  to  see  her  any  more." 

"  Really?     Are  you  sure  of  that,  Miss  Maylands?" 

"  Marion  has  noticed  it.  She  spoke  to  me  of  it 
yesterday.  I  wondered  —  " 


MARION   DARCHE.  183 

"What?" 

"Whether  there  had  been  any  misunderstand- 
ing. I  suppose  that  is  what  I  was  going  to  say." 
She  blushed  quickly,  as  she  had  turned  pale  a 
moment  before.  "  You  see,"  she  continued'  rather 
hurriedly,  "  people  who  have  once  misunderstood 
one  another  may  do  the  same  thing  again.  Say, 
for  instance,  that  he  vaguely  hinted  at  marriage 
—  men  have  such  vague  ways  of  proposing  —  " 

"Have  they?" 

"  Of  course  —  and  that  Marion  did  not  quite 
realise  what  he  meant,  and  turned  the  conversa- 
tion, and  that  Mr.  Brett  took  that  for  a  refusal 
and  went  away,  and  lost  his  appetite,  and  all 
that  —  would  it  not  account  for  it  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  assented  Vanbrugh  with  a  smile.  "  It 
might  account  for  it  —  though  Harry  Brett  is  not 
a  school  girl  of  sixteen." 

"  Meaning  that  I  am,  I  suppose,"  retorted  Dolly, 
anxious  to  get  away  from  the  subject  which  she 
had  not  chosen,  and  to  lead  Vanbrugh  up  to  what 
she  would  have  called  the  chaffing  point.  But  he 
was  not  in  the  humour  for  that. 

"No,"  he  said  quietly.  "I  did  not  mean  that." 
And  he  relapsed  into  silence  for  a  time. 


184  MARION  DARCHE. 

He  was  thinking  the  matter  over,  and  he  was 
also  asking  himself  whether,  after  all,  he  should 
not  ask  Dolly  Maylands  to  marry  him,  though 
he  was  so  much  older  than  she.  That  was  a 
possibility  which  had  presented  itself  to  his  mind 
very  often  of  late,  and  from  time  to  time  he 
determined  to  solve  the  question  in  one  way  or 
the  other,  and  be  done  with  it.  But  when  he 
wished  to  decide  it,  he  found  it  capable  of  only 
two  answers;  either  he  must  offer  himself  or  not. 
Sometimes  he  thought  he  would  and  then  he 
fancied  that  he  ought  to  prepare  Dolly  for  so 
grave  a  matter  by  giving  up  chaff  when  they 
were  together.  But  the  first  attempt  at  putting 
this  resolution  into  practice  was  a  failure  when- 
ever he  tried  it.  Chaff  was  Dolly's  element, — 
she  pined  when  she  was  deprived  of  it.  The 
serious  part  of  her  nature  lay  deep,  and  there 
were  treasures  there,  hidden  far  below  the  bright 
tide  of  rippling  laughter.  Such  treasures  are  some- 
times lost  altogether  because  no  one  discovers 
them,  or  because  no  one  knows  how  to  bring 
them  to  the  surface. 

As  he  sat  by  her  side  in  silence,  Vanbrugh  was 


MARION  DARCHE.  185 

impelled  to  turn  suddenly  upon  Dolly  and  ask 
her  to  marry  him,  without  further,  diplomacy. 
But  he  reflected  upon  the  proverbial  uncertainty 
of  woman's  temper  and  held  his  peace.  He  had 
never  made  love  to  her,  and  there  had  never  been 
anything  approaching  to  a  show  of  sentiment  be- 
tween them  until  that  memorable  afternoon  when 
the  trial  was  over.  Moreover  Russell  Vanbrugh  was 
a  very  comfortable  man.  Nothing  less  grammati- 
cally incorrect  could  express  the  combination  of 
pleasant  things  which  made  up  his  life.  He  was 
not  lonely,  in  his  father's  house  —  indeed,  he  was 
not  lonely  anywhere.  He  was  contented,  rich 
enough  to  satisfy  all  his  tastes,  popular  in  a  cer- 
tain degree  among  those  he  liked,  peaceful,  never 
bored,  occupying,  as,  it  were,  a  well  upholstered 
stall  at  the  world's  play,  when  he  chose  to  be 
idle,  and  busy  with  matters  in  which  he  took  a 
healthy,  enduring  interest  when  he  chose  to  work. 
To  marry  would  be  to  step  into  an  unknown 
country.  He  meant  to  make  the  venture  some 
day,  but  he  had  just  enough  of  indolence  in  his 
character  to  render  the  first  effort  a  little  distaste- 
ful. Nevertheless,  he  was  conscious  that  he 


186  MARION  DARCHE. 

thought  more  and  more  of  Dolly,  and  that  he 
was,  in  fact,  falling  seriously  in  love  with  her, 
and  foreseeing  that  there  was  to  be  a  change  in 
their  relations,  there  arose  the  doubt,  natural  in  a 
man  not  over-vain,  as  to  the  reception  he  might 
expect  at  her  hands. 

When  Dolly  next  saw  Marion  Darche  she  pro- 
ceeded to  attack  the  question  in  her  own  way. 
Marion  was  still  in  town,  hesitating  as  to  what 
she  should  do  with  her  summer.  She  had  no 
house  in  the  country.  The  place  which  had  be- 
longed to  her  husband  had  gone  with  such  little 
property  as  he  had  still  owned  at  the  time  of  his 
conviction  to  repair  some  of  the  harm  he  had 
done. 

The  windows  of  the  library  were  open,  and  a 
soft  south-easterly  breeze  was  blowing  up  from 
the  square  bringing  a  breath  of  coming  summer 
from  the  park  leaves.  Those  who  love  New 
York,  even  to  the  smell  of  its  mud,  know  the 
strange  charm  of  its  days  and  evenings  in  late 
spring.  Like  the  charm  of  woman,  the  charm  of 
certain  great  cities  can  never  be  explained  by 
those  who  feel  it  to  those  who  do  not.  There 


MARION  DARCHE.  187 

were  flowers  in  the  library,  and  Dolly  sat  down 
near  the  windows  and  breathed  the  sweet  quiet 
air  before  she  spoke. 

"Harry  Brett  is  ill,"  she  said. 

"111?  Seriously?"  Marion  had  started  slightly 
at  the  news. 

"Not  ill  at  home,"  explained  Dolly.  "Mr. 
Vanbrugh  spoke  of  it  the  other  night." 

"Oh — "  Marion  seemed  relieved.  "Perhaps 
that  is  the  reason  why  he  does  not  come  to  see 
me,"  she  added  rather  inconsequently,  after  a 
moment's  pause.  * 

Dolly  turned  in  her  seat  and  looked  into  her 
friend's  eyes. 

"Marion,"  she  said  gravely.  "You  know  that 
is  not  the  reason  why  he  does  not  come." 

"I  know?     What  do  you  mean,  Dolly?" 

In  spite  of  the  genuine  and  innocent  surprise 
in  the  tone,  Dolly  was  not  satisfied. 

"He  has  asked  you  to  marry  him  and  you 
have  refused  him,"  she  said  with  conviction. 

"I?" 

For  a  moment  Marion  Darche  stared  in  amaze- 
ment. Then  her  eyes  filled  with  tears  and  she 


188  MARION   DARCHE. 

turned   away   suddenly.      Her   voice    was   unsteady 
as  she  answered. 

"No.     He  has  not  asked  me  to  marry  him." 

"Are  you  quite  sure,  dear?"  insisted  Dolly. 
"You  know  men  have  such  odd  ways  of  saying 
it,  and  sometimes  one  does  not  quite  understand 
—  and  then  a  word,  or  a  glance  —  if  a  man  is 
very  sensitive  —  you  know  —  " 

"Do  not  talk  like  that,"  said  Marion,  a  little 
abruptly. 

A  short  silence  followed,  during  which  she 
moved  uneasily  about  the  room,  touching  the 
objects  on  the  table,  though  they  needed  no 
arrangement.  At  last  she  spoke  again,  out  of  the 
dusk  from  the  corner  she  had  reached  in  her 
peregrination. 

"If  he  asked  me  to  marry  him,  I  should  accept 
him,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice. 

Dolly  was  silent  in  her  turn.  She  had  not 
expected  a  direct  confidence  so  soon,  and  had  not 
at  all  foreseen  its  nature,  when  it  came  almost 
unasked. 

"  It  is  very  strange ! "  she  exclaimed  at  last. 

"Yes,"  echoed  Marion  Darche,  quite  simply. 
"It  is  very  strange." 


MARION   DAKCHB.  189 

It  was  long  before  the  mystery  was  solved,  and 
Dolly  did  not  refer  to  it  in  the  meantime.  Brett 
did  not  go  abroad,  nor  did  he  leave  New  York 
for  more  than  a  few  days  during  the  summer, 
though  it  was  almost  inconceivable  that  his 
business  should  require  his  constant  presence 
during  the  dull  season,  and  he  could  certainly 
have  left  matters  to  his  partner,  had  he  not  had 
some  very  good  reason  for  refusing  to  take  a 
holiday. 

Mrs.  Darche  took  Cousin  Annie  with  her  and 
wandered  about  during  a  couple  of  months,  visit- 
ing various  places  which  did  not  interest  her,  fall- 
ing in  with  acquaintances  often,  and  sometimes 
with  friends,  but  rather  avoiding  those  she  met 
than  showing  any  wish  to  see  much  of  them. 

To  tell  the  truth,  the  great  majority  showed  no 
inclination  to  intrude  upon  her  privacy.  People 
understood  well  enough  that  she  should  desire  to 
be  alone  and  undisturbed,  considering  the  strange 
circumstances  through  which  she  had  passed 
during  the  winter  and  spring.  Moreover  Brett's 
conduct  elicited  approval  on  all  sides.  It  was 
said  that  he  showed  good  taste  in  not  following 


190  MARION   DARCHE. 

Mrs.  Darche  from  place  to  place,  as  he  might 
easily  have  done,  and  as  most  men  in  his  position 
undoubtedly  would  have  done,  for  it  was  quite 
clear  that  he  was  seriousiy  in  love.  All  his 
friends  had  noticed  the  change  of  appearance  and 
manner,  and  others  besides  Vanbrugh  had  advised 
him  to  take  a  rest,  to  go  abroad,  to  go  and  shoot 
bears,  in  short,  to  do  one  of  the  many  things 
which  are  generally  supposed  to  contribute  to 
health  and  peace  of  mind.  Then  it  was  rumoured 
that  he  was  working  harder  than  usual,  in  view  of 
his  approaching  marriage,  that  he  was  not  so  well 
off  as  had  generally  been  supposed,  and  that  he 
wished  to  forestall  any  remarks  to  the  effect  that 
he  was  going  to  marry  Mrs.  Darche  for  the  sake 
of  her  fortune,  which  was  considerable.  In  short, 
people  said  everything  they  could  think  of,  and 
all  the  things  that  are  usually  thought  of  in  such 
cases,  and  when  they  had  reached  the  end  of 
their  afflictions  they  talked  of  other  friends  whose 
doings  formed  a  subject  of  common  interest. 

Mrs.  Darche  did  not  find  much  companionship 
in  her  cousin,  but  that  was  not  exactly  what  she 
required  or  expected  .of  Mrs.  Willoughby.  She 


MARION  DARCHE.  191 

wanted  the  gray,  colourless  atmosphere  which  the 
widowed  lady  seemed  to  take  about  with  her,  and 
she  liked  it  merely  because  it  was  neutral,  restful 
and  thoroughly  unemotional.  She  did  not  think 
of  creating  new  diversions  for  herself,  nor  of  taking 
up  new  interests.  Her  life  had  been  so  full  that 
this  temporary  emptiness  was  restful  to  her.  She 
was  surprised  at  rinding  how  little  the  present 
resembled  what  she  had  expected  it  to  be,  so  long 
as  it  had  been  still  a  future.  As  yet,  too,  there 
was  an  element  of  uncertainty  in  it  which  did 
not  preclude  pleasant  reflections.  Though  she  had 
said  to  Dolly  that  Brett's  conduct  was  changed, 
she  could  still  explain  it  to  herself  well  enough 
to  be  satisfied  with  her  own  conclusions.  Doubt- 
less he  felt  that  it  was  yet  too  soon  to  speak  or 
even  to  show  by  his  actions  that  he  had  anything 
to  say.  She  could  well  believe  —  and  indeed  it 
was  flattering  —  that  he  abstained  from  seeing  her 
because  he  felt  that  in  her  presence  he  might  not 
be  able  to  control  his  speech.  She  called  up  in 
her  memory  what  had  taken  place  many  months 
previously  when  she  had  sent  for  him  and  had 
told  him  that  she  needed  a  large  sum  of  money  at 


192  MARION  DAKCHB. 

short  notice  —  how  he  had  lost  his  head  on  that 
occasion,  and  allowed  words  to  break  out  which 
both  of  them  had  regretted.  Since  there  was  now 
no  obstacle  in  the  way,  it  would  of  course  be 
harder  for  him  than  ever  to  act  the  part  of  a 
disinterested  friend,  even  for  the  short  time  —  the 
shortest  possible  —  during  which  she  went  through 
the  form  of  wearing  mourning  for  John  Darche. 
She  could  still  say  to  herself  that  it  was  delicate 
and  tactful  on  Brett's  part  to  act  as  he  was  acting, 
although  she  sometimes  thought,  or  wished,  that 
he  might  have  allowed  what  was  passing  in  his 
mind  to  betray  itself  by  a  glance,  a  gesture  or  a 
gentle  intonation.  It  was  certainly  pushing  the 
proprieties  to  the  utmost  to  keep  away  from  her 
altogether.  Even  when  he  wrote  to  her,  as  he 
had  occasion  to  do  several  times  during  the 
summer,  he  confined  himself  almost  entirely  to 
matters  of  business,  and  the  little  phrase  with 
which  he  concluded  each  of  his  communications 
seemed  to  grow  more  and  more  formal.  There 
had  always  been  something  a  little  exaggerated  in 
Harry  Brett's  behaviour.  It  had  been  that  per- 
haps, which  in  old  times  had  frightened  her,  had 


MAKION   DARCHE.  193 

prevented  her  from  accepting  him,  and  had  made 
her  turn  in  mistaken  confidence  to  the  man  of 
grave  moderation  and  apparently  unchanging  pur- 
pose who  had  become  her  husband. 

Dolly  Maylands  had  no  such  illusions  with 
regard  to  Brett's  conduct,  though  she  did  not 
again  discuss  the  matter  with  Russell  Vanbrugh. 
She  was  conscious  that  he  felt  as  she  did,  that 
something  mysterious  had  taken  place  about  which 
neither  of  them  knew  anything,  but  which  was 
seriously  and  permanently  influencing  Harry  Brett's 
life.  Dolly,  however,  was  more  discreet  than  was 
commonly  supposed,  and.  kept  her  surmises  to 
herself.  When  Mrs.  Darche  and  Brett  were 
discussed  before  her,  she  said  as  little  as  she 
could,  and  allowed  people  to  believe  that  she 
shared  the  common  opinion,  namely,  that  the  two 
people  would  be  married  before  the  year  was  out 
and  that,  in  the  meanwhile,  both  were  behaving 
admirably. 

Vanbrugh  wandered  about  a  good  deal  during 
the  summer,  returning  to  New  York  from  time 
to  time,  more  out  of  habit  than  necessity.  He 

made  visits   at  various    country   houses    among   his 

17— Vol.  9 


194  MAK1ON   DAKCHE. 

friends,  spent  several  days  on  board  of  several 
yachts,  was  seen  more  than  once  in  Bar  Harbour, 
and  once,  at  least,  at  Newport  and  on  the  whole 
did  all  those  things  which  are  generally  expected 
of  a  successful  man  in  the  summer  holidays.  He 
wrote  to  Brett  several  times,  but  they  did  not 
meet  often.  The  tone  of  his  friend's  letters 
tended  to  confirm  his  suspicion  of  some  secret 

• 

trouble.  Brett  wrote  in  a  nervous  and  detached 
way  and  often  complained  of  the  heat  and  dis- 
comfort during  July  and  August,  though  he  never 
gave  a  sufficient  reason  for  staying  where  he  was. 

On  the  other  hand,  Vanbrugh  found  that  where 
he  was  invited  Dolly  Maylands  was  often  invited 
too,  and  that  there  seemed  to  be  a  general  impres- 
sion -that  they  liked  one  another's  society  and 
should  be  placed  together  at  dinner. 

More  than  once,  Vanbrugh  felt  again  the  strong 
impulse  to  which  he  had  almost  yielded  at 
Tuxedo.  More  than  once  he  made  a  serious  at- 
tempt to  change  the  tone  of  his  conversation  with 
Dolly.  She  did  not  fail  to  notice  this,  of  course, 
and  being  slightly  embarrassed  generally  became 
grave  and  silent  on  such  occasions,  thereby  lead- 


MARION   DARCHE.  195 

ing  Vanbrugh  to  suppose  that  she  was  bored, 
which  very  much  surprised  the  successful  man 
of  the  world  at  first  and  very  much  annoyed  him 
afterwards. 

So  the  summer  passed  away,  and  all  concerned 
in  this  little  story  were  several  months  older  if 
not  proportionately  wiser. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

IN  the  autumn,  Marion  Darche  returned  to 
town,  feeling  that  since  she  was  to  begin  life 
over  again,  and  since  her  friends  had  accepted  the 
fact,  there  was  no  reason  for  not  taking  the  first 
steps  at  once.  She  intended  to  live  very  quietly, 
occupying  herself  as  best  she  could,  for  she  knew 
that  some  occupation  was  necessary  to  her,  now 
that  the  whole  busy  existence  of  the  last  five  years 
was  over.  She  did  not  know  what  to  do.  She 
consulted  Dolly,  and  would  have  liked  to  con- 
sult Brett,  but  he  rarely  called,  and  then,  by 
design  or  coincidence,  he  always  seemed  to  appear 
just  when  some  one  else  was  with  her. 

More  than  once  she  had  thought  of  writing 
to  him  freely,  asking  him  to  explain  the  cause 
of  his  conduct  and  to  put  an  end  to  the  estrange- 
ment which  was  growing  up  between  them.  She 
even  went  so  far  as  to  begin  a  letter,  but  it  was 
never  finished  and  found  its  way  to  the  fire 

196 


MARION  DAKCHB.  197 

before  it  was  half  written.  She  could  not,  how- 
ever, keep  her  thoughts  from  dwelling  on  him, 
since  there  was  no  longer  any  reason  for  trying 
to  forget  his  existence.  She  was  not  lacking  in 
pride,  and  if  she  had  believed  that  Harry  Brett 
no  longer  loved  her,  she  would  have  still  been 
strong  enough  to  bury  the  memory  of  him  out 
of  sight  and  beyond  danger  of  resurrection.  But 
he  did  not  behave  in  such  a  way  as  to  convince 
her  of  that.  A  woman's  instinct  is  rarely  wrong 
in  telling  her  whether  she  is  loved  or  not,  unless 
she  is  confronted  with  a  man  of  superior  wicked- 
ness or  goodness.  The  strength  which  breeds 
great  virtues  and  great  vices  lends  that  perfect 
control  of  outward  manner  which  is  called,  dia- 
bolical or  heroic  according  to  circumstances.  Harry 
Brett  was  not  such  a  man.  He  could  keep  away 
from  the  house  in  Lexington  Avenue,  because 
for  some  reason  or  other  he  believed  it  necessary 
to  avoid  Mrs.  Darche's  society ;  but  he  could 
not  simulate  what  he  did  not  feel,  nor  conceal 
his  real  feelings  when  he  was  with  her.  The 
cold,  nervous  hand,  the  quick  glance,  the  momen- 
tary hesitation,  the  choice  of  a  seat  a  little  too 


198  MARION   DARCHE. 

far  from  her  side  —  all  told  Marion  that  he  loved 
her  still,  and  that  he  believed  himself  obliged  to 
stay  away,  and  was  afraid  to  be  alone  with  her. 

At  last  she  made  up  her  mind  to  do  some- 
thing which  should  show  him  definitely  that  she 
now  regarded  her  mourning  as  a  mere  formality, 
and  intended  before  long  to  return  to  her  former 
way  of  living,  as  though  nothing  had  happened. 
She  determined  to  ask  Brett  and  Vanbrugh  and 
Dolly  to  luncheon.  It  certainly  was  not  a  very 
wild  dissipation  which  she  proposed,  but  it  was 
the  first  time  she  had  invited  more  than  one  of 
them  at  the  same  time.  And  cousin  Annie  Wil- 
loughby  petitioned  for  a  fourth  guest  by  a -very 
gentle  and  neutral  hint.  She  had  a  certain  el- 
derly friend,  one  James  Brown,  who  was  the  only 
person  living  who  seemed  able  to  talk  to  her 
for  any  length  of  time. 

Mr.  Brown  had  been  a  disappointment  to  his 
friends  in  his  youth.  He  was  regarded  as  a 
failure.  Great  things  had  been  expected  of  him 
when  he  left  college  and  during  several  years 
afterwards.  But  his  so-called  gifts  had  turned 
out  to  be  -only  tastes,  and  he  had  never  accom- 


MARION   DARCHE.  199 

plished  anything.  He  had  not  the  enthusiastic, 
all-devouring,  all-appreciative,  omnivorous  nature 
which  makes  some  amateurs  delightful  companions 
and  invaluable  flatterers.  Though  he  really 
knew  something  about  several  subjects  no  one 
ever  had  the  slightest  respect  for  his  opinion 
or  judgment.  He  was  an  agreeable  man,  a  good- 
natured  gossip,  a  harmless  critic.  He  always 
seemed  to  have  read  every  word  of  books  which 
most  people  found  tiresome  and  skimmed  in 
half  an  hour,  and  he  never  was  acquainted  with 
the  book  of  the  hour  until  the  hour  was  past. 
No  one  ever  understood  why  he  liked  Mrs. 
Willoughby,  nor  why  she  liked  him,  but  if 
people  thought  of  the  matter  at  all  they  thought 
the  friendship  very  appropriate.  Mr.  Brown 
knew  everybody  in  society  and  was  useful  in 
filling  a  place,  because  he  was  a  bachelor,  and 
joined  in  the  hum  if  not  in  the  conversation. 
In  appearance  he  was  a  bald  man  with  refined 
features,  a  fair  beard  turning  gray,  gentle  blue 
eyes,  an  average  figure,  small  feet  and  hands, 
well-made  clothes,  a  chronic  watch-chain  and  a 
ring  with  an  intaglio.  His  strong  point  was  his 


200  MARION   DARCHE. 

memory,  his  weak  point  was  his  absence  of 
tact. 

Marion,  who  intended  that  the  general  conversa- 
tion of  the  table  should  be  followed  by  a  general 
pairing  off  after  the  coffee,  reflected  that  Mr. 
Brown  would  amuse  Mrs.  Willoughby  while  Van- 
brugh  talked  to  Dolly  and  she  herself  had  an 
opportunity  of  speaking  with  Brett.  So  she  asked 
Mr.  Brown  to  join  the  party,  and  he  accepted. 
Dolly  came  first,  but  Mr.  Brown,  who  was  punctu- 
ality itself,  appeared  a  moment  later.  Vanbrugh 
arrived  next,  and  last  of  all  Harry  Brett,  a  little 
late  and  apologising  rather  nervously. 

"  Did  you  get  my  note  ? "  he  inquired  of  Van- 
brugh, after  the  first  greetings  and  as  soon  as  he 
could  exchange  a  word  with  him,  unnoticed  in  the 
general  conversation. 

"No.  Anything  important?  I  went  out  early 
—  before  eleven  o'clock,  and  have  not  been  at  home 
since." 

"There  was  an  interesting  story  of  a  wreck  in 
the  paper  this  morning,"  said  Mr.  Brown,  address- 
ing the  three  ladies. 

"Stop    him,"    said    Brett    to    Vanbrugh    in    an 


MARION   DARCHB.  201 

energetic  whisper.  "  Now  Brown,  my  dear  fellow/' 
he  continued  aloud,  sitting  down  beside  Mrs. 
Darche,  "  do  not  begin  the  day  by  giving  us  the 
Sunday  Herald  entire,  because  we  have  all  read 
it  and  we  know  all  about  the  wreck  — " 

Mr.  Brown,  who  was  used  to  interruption  and 
to  being  checked  when  he  was  about  to  bore 
people,  looked  up  with  mild  eyes  and  protested 
a  little. 

"I  say,  Brett,  you  know,  you  are  rather  abrupt 
sometimes,  in  your  way  of  shutting  people  up. 
But  as  you  say,  they  have  probably  all  read  the 
story.  I  only  thought  —  " 

"  Only  thought ! "  cried  Vanbrugh,  taking  his 
cue  from  his  friend.  "  Only !  As  though  think- 
ing were  not  the  most  important  function  of  the 
human  animal,  next  to  luncheon  —  " 

"I  have  not  read  the  story  Mr.  Brown  alludes 
to,"  observed  Mrs.  Willoughby  rather  primly. 

"Oh  —  it  is  all  about  natural  history,  and 
cannibals  and  latitudes  and  people  in  a  boat," 
said  Brett  talking  very  fast.  "All  that  kind*  of 
thing.  As  for  the  news  I  can  give  you  lots  of 
it.  Great  fire,  strike,  a  new  bacillus  in  postage- 


202  MARION   DAECHE. 

stamp  gum  —  awfully  dangerous,  Mrs.  Willoughby. 
Always  use  a  sponge  for  moistening  your  stamps 
or  you  will  get  something  —  some  sort  of  new 
disease  —  what  is  it,  Vanbrugh  ?  You  always 
know  everything." 

"  Gum-boils,"  suggested  Vanbrugh,  without 
hesitation. 

Brett  gave  him  a  grateful  look,  as  Mr.  Brown's 
laughter  assured  him  that  the  danger  was  over 
for  the  present.  But  Brett  did  not  desist  until 
Stubbs  opened  the  dining-room  door  and  they  all 
went  in  to  luncheon.  Mrs.  Darche  watched  him 
curiously,  wondering  what  was  the  matter.  She 
had  never  before  heard  him  talk  so  nervously. 
Vanbrugh  had  not  the  slightest  idea  of  what  had 
happened,  but  blindly  followed  Brett's  lead,  and 
helped  him  to  annihilate  Mr.  Brown  whenever 
the  latter  showed  the  least  inclination  to  tell  a 
story. 

Mr.  Brown,  however,  was  an  obstinate  person. 
He  was  not  quick  on  his  feet  mentally,  so  to  say, 
and  an  insignificant  idea  had  as  strong  a  hold 
upon  his  thoughts  as  an  important  one.  Some- 
how he  managed  to  tell  the  tale  of  the  wreck  to 


MARION   DARCHE.  203 

Mrs.  Willoughby  and  Dolly  in  the  little  shifting 
of  companionship  which  always  takes  place  on 
leaving  table.  To  do  him  justice,  he  told  it  very 
shortly,  and  Mrs.  Darche  did  not  chance  to  be 
listening  at  the  time.  Stubbs  was  offering  every- 
body coffee,  and  Marion  had  a  box  of  cigarettes 
and  was  standing  before  the  fireplace  with  Van- 
brugh  and  Brett,  exchanging  a  few  words  with 
the  latter.  Suddenly  Mr.  Brown's  voice  rose 
above  the  rest. 

"Of  course,"  he  was  saying,  "nobody  ever  knew 
positively  that  the  man  had  really  been  drowned. 
But  he  had  never  turned  up — " 

"And  probably  never  will,"  answered  Dolly, 
glancing  nervously  at  Marion.  But  she  had 
caught  the  words  and  had  turned  a  little  pale. 

Vanbrugh  looked  over  to  Brown. 

"For  heaven's  sake,  Jim,"  he  said,  in  a  low 
voice.  "Talk  about  something  else,  if  you  must, 
you  know!" 

Mr.  Brown's  face  fell  as  he  realised  his  mistake. 

"  By  Jove ! "  he  exclaimed.  "  Just  like  me  !  I 
forgot  that  poor  Darche  drowned  himself." 

Marion    recovered     herself     quickly     and     came 


204  MARION   DARCHE. 

forward,  offering  her  box  of  cigarettes  to  every- 
body, while  Brett  carried  the  little  silver  spirit  lamp. 

"You  must  all  smoke  and  make  yourselves 
happy,"  she  said  with  a  smile.  "  Cousin  Annie 
does  not  mind  it  in  the  least." 

"Well,  of  course,"  began  Mrs.  Willoughby, 
primly  polite,  "nowadays  —  " 

"There  is  nobody  like  you,  Mrs.  Darche,"  said 
Vanbrugh,  accepting  the  offer.  "Thanks." 

"  They  are  your  especial  kind,"  answered  Marion. 

"I  know  they  are — that  is  what  I  mean.  How 
you  spoil  me!" 

Marion  went  on. 

"Mr.  Brown?" 

"Yes,  thank  you.  I  do  smoke  sometimes," 
answered  Mr.  Brown,  hesitating  in  the  matter 
between  his  allegiance  to  Mrs.  Willoughby,  who 
disapproved  of  smoking  in  the  drawing-room,  and 
his  duty  to  his  hostess,  who  encouraged  it. 

"I  hope  you  always  do,"  said  Marion.  "When 
a  man  does  not  smoke —  Mr.  Brett,  take  one." 

She  had  stopped  herself,  remembering  that  her 
husband  had  not  been  a  smoker,  but  Mr.  Brown 
finished  the  sentence  for  her  with  his  usual  tact. 


MABION   DARCHE. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  lighting  his  cigarette,  "  men  who 
do  not  smoke  always  seem  to  me  to  be  suspicious 
characters." 

"Dolly,  try  one,"  said  Marion,  trying  not  to 
hear  him. 

"  Oh,  Marion !  "  Dolly  laughed. 

"  Try  it,"  said  Vanbrugh,  sitting  down  beside  her. 

The  party  had  paired  off,  and  Marion  found 
herself  near  the  window  with  Brett,  beside  a 
table  covered  with  photographs  and  etchings. 

"I  wonder  why  Miss  Maylands  should  seem 
shocked,"  began  Brett,  entering  into  conversation 
rather  awkwardly.  "I  have  no  doubt  that  she, 
and  you,  and  perhaps  Mrs.  Willoughby,  have 
all  tried  a  cigarette  in  secret,  and  perhaps  you 
have  liked  it?" 

"  If  I  liked  cigarettes  I  would  smoke  them," 
said  Mrs.  Darche,  with  decision. 

"Do  you  always  do  what  you  like?" 

"In  little  things." 

"  And  how  about  the  big  things  ? "  inquired 
Brett. 

"I  like  to  have  other  people  take  care  of  them 
for  me." 


206  MARION   DARCHE. 

"What  people?"  As  he  asked  the  question 
he  absently  took  a  photograph  from  the  table 
and  looked  at  it. 

"People  who  know  me,"  said  Marion. 

"  Meaning  me  ?  " 

"If  you  like." 

"  If  I  like ! "  exclaimed  Brett.  Then,  having 
broken  the  ice,  as  it  were,  his  voice  suddenly 
changed.  "  There  is  nothing  I  like  so  much, 
there  is  nothing  I  would  rather  do  than  take 
care  of  you  and  what  belongs  to  you." 

"You  have  shown  it,"  answered  Mrs.  Darche 
gently.  She  took  the  photograph  from  Brett's 
hand  and  looked  at  it,  in  her  turn,  without 
seeing  it. 

"I  have  tried  to,  once  or  twice,"  said  Brett, 
"when  you  needed  help." 

"Indeed  you  have.  And  you  know  that  I  am 
grateful  too." 

"I  do  not  care  to  know  that,"  he  replied.  "If 
I  ever  did  anything  for  you  —  it  was  only  what 
any  other  man  would  have  done  in  my  place  — 
it  was  not  for  the  sake  of  ^earning  your  grati- 
tude." 


MARION   DABCHE.  207 

"For  what  then?" 

Brett  hesitated  a  moment  before  he  answered, 
and  then  turned  from  her  towards  the  window 
as  he  spoke. 

"  It  was  not  for  the  sake  of  anything." 

"  Mere  caprice,  then  ? "  asked  Marion,  watching 
him  closely. 

"No,  not  that." 

"I  suppose  your  motives  are  a  secret?" 
Marion  laughed  a  little,  perhaps  at  her  own 
curiosity. 

"Yes."  Brett  pronounced  the  single  word  with 
great  earnestness. 

"  Dear  me !  "   exclaimed  Marion. 

"Yes.  And  I  shall  be  very  sorry  if  you  ever 
find  out  what  that  secret  is." 

"  How  mysterious  !  " 

"Yes,  is  it  not?" 

Brett  had  suddenly  assumed  a  tone  of  indiffer- 
ence. As  he  spoke  Vanbrugh  and  Dolly  rose 
and  came  forwards  towards  the  table. 

"  If  you  have  quite  finished  not  looking  at 
those  photographs,  give  them  to  me,  Brett,"  said 
Vanbrugh.  "  Miss  Maylands  wishes  to  see  them." 


208  MARION   DARCHB. 

"  Oh,  take  them  by  all  means,"  answered  Brett, 
thrusting  a  dozen  or  more  into  his  hands.  "As 
I  was  saying,  Mrs.  Darche,  I  am  the  worst  judge 
of  architecture  in  the  world  —  especially  from 
photographs." 

"  Architecture,  eh  ?  "  observed  Vanbrugh,  as  he 
re-crossed  the  room  with  Dolly.  "Rather  hard 
on  photographs  of  etchings  from  portraits." 

"  Oh,  no ! "  exclaimed  Dolly,  laughing  softly 
and  looking  back  at  Brett  and  Mrs.  Darche. 
"  They  talk  of  love's  temple,  you  know,  and 
building  up  one's  happiness  —  and  lots  of  things 
of  that  sort  —  the  architecture  of  the  affections." 

"  You  seem  to  care,"  said  Vanbrugh,  sitting 
down  and  laying  the  photographs  upon  his  knees. 

"Do  I?    Do  you  not?" 

"I  —  oh,  well,  hi  a  sort  of  a  fatherly  way,  I 
suppose."  ,He  held  up  one  of  the  photographs 
upside  down  and  looked  at  it. 

"Yes.  Now  I  care  in  a  sort  of  a  sisterly  way, 
you  know.  It  is  very  much  the  same  thing,  I 
fancy." 

"  Is  that  all  ? "  asked  Vanbrugh  with  a  short 
laugh.  "I  thought  you  had  made  up  your  mind." 


MARION   DAECHE.  209 

"About  what?" 

"About  Harry  Brett." 

Dolly  looked  at  him  in  surprise  and  drew  her- 
self up  a  little  stiffly.  "What  about  him?" 

"  I  do  not  mean  to  be  rude,  nor  inquisitive,  nor 
anything  of  the  sort  —  so  I  think  I  had  better 
turn  the  conversation." 

"But  you  do  not.  You  are  waiting  for  me  to 
say  something.  Do  you  think  I  am  afraid?  Do 
you  think  I  am  like  all  the  girls  you  meet  and 
dance  with,  and  repeat  your  pretty  speeches  to  ? " 

"Repeat  is  graceful,"  said  Vanbrugh,  "consider- 
ate —  so  kind  of  you." 

*CI  do  not  feel  kind,"  answered  Dolly  emphatically, 
"and  I  am  not  at  all  afraid  of  telling  the  truth." 

"  Considering  your  interest  in  Sunday  schools 
that  is  what  I  should  expect." 

"  I  am  just  as  fond  of  dancing  and  enjoying  my- 
self as  any  one  else,"  said  Dolly,  relenting, 
"though  I  do  take  an  interest  in  Sunday  schools." 

"  Fashionable  charities  and  dissipations,  as  Brett 
calls  them  —  I  see." 

"Do  not  see  in  that  tone  of  voice,  please  —  if 
what  you  see  has  anything  to  do  with  me." 


210  MARION   DARCHE. 

"Which  it  has,"  said  Vanbrugh.  "Mrs.  Darche 
is  one  of  your  charities,  I  suppose  —  and  Harry 
Brett  is  one  of  your  dissipations." 

"  You  are  too  complicated,"  answered  Dolly, 
really  not  understanding.  "  Say  it  in  American, 
will  you  not?  " 

"You  love  Brett,  and  you  are  nice  to  Mrs. 
Darche,  though  you  hate  her,"  said  Vanbrugh  in 
a  tone  which  left  Dolly  in  doubt  as  to  whether 
he  was  in  earnest  or  only  chaffing.  She  paused 
a  moment  and  stared  at  him  before  she  answered, 
and  then  to  his  great  astonishment  spoke  with 
more  coldness  than  he  was  accustomed  to. 

"  Precisely,"  she  said.  "  I  love  Mrs.  Darche 
and  I  hate  Brett  because  he  does  not  ask  her  to 
marry  him  as  he  should,  now  that  Darche  has 
been  dead  so  long.  I  am  sorry,  Marion,"  she 
said,  turning  to  Mrs.  Darche,  and  going  up  to 
her  rather  suddenly,  "  dear  —  I  really  must  be 
going." 

"Already?"  exclaimed  Marion  in  surprise,  "it 
is  not  three  o'clock?" 

"Almost,"  said  Dolly,  "and  I  have  lots  to  do — 
ever  so  many  people  waiting  for  me  at  a  Com- 


MARION   DARCHE.  211 

mittee,  and  then  a  visit  I  must  make,  and  a  frock 
to  try  on — and  then  if  we  are  to  dine  at  seven 
so  as  to  be  dressed  in  time  for  the  tableaux 
there  is  no  afternoon  at  all."  - 

"  How  busy  you  are !  Yet  you  always  look  so 
fresh!  How  in  the  world  do  you  do  it?" 

"A  large  appetite  and  a  clear  conscience — " 
suggested  Brett,  who  seemed  to  be  more  than 
usually  absent-minded. 

Dolly  glanced  at  him  rather  angrily  as  she 
shook  hands  with  her  friend.  "  Good-bye,  dear 
Marion.  It  has  been  ever  so  nice !  Good-bye." 

She  left  the  room.  Vanbrugh  was  annoyed 
and  discomforted  by  her  sudden  departure,  but  he 
made  the  best  of  the  situation,  and  after  closing  the 
door  behind  her,  sat  down  beside  Mrs.  Willoughby, 
who  was  listening  to  one  of  Brown's  stories. 

"I  suppose  she  is  angry  with  me,"  said  Brett 
to  Marion.  "  What  did  I  say  ?  I  was  thinking 
of  something  else." 

"Then  why  did  you  choose  that  moment  for 
speaking  of  her? "  asked  Mrs.  Darche  reproach- 
fully. "You  really  must  take  care,  you  will 
make  enemies." 


212  MARION   DARCHE. 

"Of  course.     What  does  it  matter?" 

"It  matters  to  me,  if  you  make  enemies  of  my 
friends." 

"That  is  different,"  said  Brett.  "But  seriously 
—  do  not  people  forgive  a  lack  of  tact  some- 
times—  being  a  little  absent-minded?  Look  at 
Jim  Brown." 

"  That  is  quite  another  thing,"  Marion  answered. 
"  Yes  —  I  heard"  what  he  was  telling  as  we  came 
into  the  room  after  the  luncheon.  Of  course  it 
was  tactless.  Of  course  no  man  in  his  senses 
should  talk  in  a  loud  tone,  before  me,  of  a  man 
falling  overboard  at  sea  and  being  drowned,  still 
less  —  " 

"What?"  asked  Brett. 

A  short  pause  followed  the  question,  and 
when  Marion  answered  it,  it  was  evident  that 
she  was  making  an  effort. 

"  Still  less  of  the  possibility  that  such  a  man 
might  be  heard  of  again  some  day." 

"That  at  least  is  improbable,"  said  Brett, 
very  gravely. 

"I  shivered  when  I  heard  what  he  said." 

"I  do  not  wonder." 


MARION  DARCHE.  213 

In  the  meantime,  at  the  other  end  of  the  room, 
Mr.  Brown  was  enjoying  at  last  the  supreme 
satisfaction  of  talking  without  reserve  about  the 
story  he  had  seen  in  the  papers  that  morning. 

"  One  never  knows  what  to  believe,"  said  Mrs. 
Willoughby. 

"Believe  nothing,"  said  Vanbrugh  with  much 
conviction.  "In  particular,  my  dear  Mrs.  Wil- 
loughby, do  not  believe  in  Brown's  tales.  He  is 
a  perfectly  idle  man,  and  he  does  nothing  but 
sleep  and  talk,  because  he  has  a  liver  and  cannot 
eat.  A  man  who  has  nothing  to  do  requires 
a  great  deal  of  sleep  and  a  great  deal  of  con- 
versation." 

"  I  say,  Russell,  old  man,"  protested  Mr.  Brown 
with  a  good-humoured  laugh,  "this  is  rather  un- 
kind. Where  would  you  get  your  conversation  if 
I  did  not  supply  you  with  the  items?  That  is 
what  one's  best  friends  come  to,  Mrs.  Willoughby, 
in  this  bustling  world.  And  why  should  not 
people  eat,  sleep,  and  talk,  —  and  do  nothing  else 
if  the}*-  have  time?  But  as  for  this  story,  I  never 
pretended  that  it  was  anything  but  newspaper 
gossip  —  not  even  that  —  a  sensation  item,  manu- 


214  MARION  DARCHE. 

factured  down  town,  perhaps.  'Woman  burned 
alive  in  Jersey  City, '  —  five  lines  — '  Deny  the 
report,'  —  five  lines  more  —  that  is  the  sort  of 
thing.  But  this  is  a  strange  coincidence,  or  a 
strange  story.  It  might  almost  be  poor  Darche's 
case,  with  a  sensational  ending." 

"Oh,  well,"  answered  Vanbrugh,  who  by  this 
time  quite  understood  the  meaning  of  Brett's 
strange  conduct  before  luncheon,  "  of  course  it  is 
only  a  sensational  paragraph,  and  belongs  to  your 
department,  Brown.  But  as  you  say,  the  coinci- 
dences are  extraordinary.  A  man  says  he  fell 
overboard  from  a  Channel  boat,  and  was  picked 
up  by  an  Italian  bark,  which  took  him  to  Val- 
paraiso after  all  sorts  of  adventures.  The  weak 
point  in  these  stories  generally  is  that  the  man 
never  seems  to  take  the  trouble  to  communicate 
with  his  relations  from  the  first  port  he  reaches, 
and  takes  an  awful  lot  of  trouble  to  get  ship- 
wrecked somewhere  on  the  way.  But  in  this  case 
that  is  the  strong  point.  What  did  you  say  the 
fellow's  name  was  ?  " 

"Why,  my  dear  man,  that  is  three-quarters  of 
the  coincidence.  He  calls  himself  John  Drake. 


MARION   DARCHE.  215 

Transpose  the  'r'  and  the  'a,'  and  that  looks  un- 
commonly like  John  Darche." 

"No  doubt,"  said  Vanbrugh;  "but  then  there 
is  nothing  peculiar  about  'John.'  If  he  had  been 
christened  'Eliphalet  Xenophon'  it  would  have 
been  considerably  stranger.  Besides  if  he  really 
were  Darche  he  would  not  call  himself  either 
Darche  or  John." 

"  How  can  you  suggest  anything  so  dreadful ! " 
exclaimed  Mrs.  Willoughby. 

"Why  'dreadful'?"  asked  Mr.  Brown. 

"  Only  think  of  it,"  said  Mrs.  Willoughby. 
"An  escaped  suicide  —  I  mean,  a  convict  who 
escaped  and  killed  himself." 

"And  you  think  that  the  disgrace  of  having 
committed  suicide  will  cling  to  him  in  after  life, 
so  to  say  —  in  Sing-Sing?"  inquired  Mr.  Brown. 

"Do  not  make  me  out  more  stupid  than  I 
really  am."  Cousin  Annie  assumed  a  deprecatory 
expression.  "  Do  you  not  think  that  a  man  like 
Darche  —  convicted  of  a  crime  —  escaped  —  if  he 
suddenly  re — re —  What  is  the  word?" 

"Imperfectly  resurrected,"   suggested   Vanbrugh. 

"  Oh    yes !      Anything !      If    he    came    back    to 


216  MARION  DARCHE. 

life,  and  yet  was  supposed  to  be  dead,  and  was 
trying  to  begin  all  over  again  and  to  make  a  fresh 
start,  and  that  kind  of  thing  —  under  another 
name  —  " 

"In"  order  to  enjoy  the  satisfaction  of  seeing 
his  widow  marry  some  one  else  ? "  asked  Van- 
brugh,  with  less  discretion  than  usual. 

"I  did  not  mean  that,"  said  Mrs.  Willoughby 
quickly.  "  Poor  Marion  !  Poor  Marion  !  What 
time  is  it,  Mr.  Brown?" 

"  Three." 

"  Oh  dear !  "  exclaimed  cousin  Annie. 

"  Dear  me  ! "  echoed  Vanbrugh. 

"Yes,  it  is  later  than  I  thought,"  said  Mr. 
Brown. 

By  a  common  impulse,  all  three  rose  at  once 
and  crossed  the  room  to  take  leave  of  their 
hostess. 

"  What,  are  you  all  going  ?  "  asked  the  latter. 

"  Do  you  know  what  time  it  is,  Marion  ?  "  And 
not  waiting  for  an  answer,  Mrs.  Willoughby  held 
out  her  hand. 

"  It  is  awfully  late,"  observed  Vanbrugh,  by  way 
of  explanation. 


MARION  DARCHE.  217 

"  Thank  you  so  much,"  said  Mr.  Brown,  shaking 
hands  warmly. 

"  Yes,  it  is  later  than  I  thought."  Brett  looked 
at  his  watch,  though  by  this  time  he  had  made 
up  his  mind  to  outstay  the  others. 

"  Well  —  if  you  must  go  —  " 

Marion  did  not  show  any  anxiety  to  detain  her 
guests  as  they  filed  out  of  the  room. 

"  You  did  not  mean  me  to  go  away  with  the 
crowd,  did  you  ?  "  asked  Brett,  as  the  door  closed 
behind  Mr.  Brown. 

"  Not  if  you  wished  to  stay,"  answered  Marion, 
taking  her  favourite  chair  near  the  fire.  "  Take 
another  cigarette.  Sit  down." 

"  And  make  myself  at  home  ?      Thanks." 

"If  you  can,"  said  Mrs.  Darche  with  a  pleasant 
laugh. 

"  Did  you  hear  what  they  were  saying  to  each 
other  over  there  while  we  were  talking?"  inquired 
Brett,  who  by  this  time  seemed  to  have  recovered 
from  the  unnatural  embarrassment  he  had  shown 
at  first.  He  had  rather  suddenly  made  up  his 
mind  that  Marion  ought  to  know  something  about 
the  story  in  the  papers. 

J  18— Vol.  9 


218  MARION  DARCHE. 

"  No.     Did  you  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Yes." 

"  I  do  not  like  that."  Mrs.  Darche  did  not 
seem  pleased.  "  It  was  not  nice  of  you  —  to  be 
able  to  talk  as  you  were  talking,-  and  to  listen  to 
the  conversation  of  other  people  at  the  same  time." 

"Do  you  know  what  they  were  saying?"  asked 
Brett. 

"  No,  certainly  not." 

"It  is  not  a  pleasant  subject.  They  were  talk- 
ing about  that  paragraph  in  the  papers  again.  Of 
course  there  is  nothing  in  the  story,  and  yet  it 
is  very  strange.  May  I  speak  of  it?" 

"  Is  it  of  any  use  ? "  asked  Mrs.  Darche,  begin- 
ning to  suspect  what  was  coming. 

"I  hardly  know,"  Brett  answered,  "and  yet  if 
it  should  turn  out  there  is  even  the  smallest 
grain  of  truth — " 

"  There  cannot  be.  I  know  there  cannot  be," 
she  repeated,  after  a  moment's  pause,  as  though 
she  had  gone  over  the  whole  question  in  the 
interval.  "  Oh,  what  is  the  use  of  suggesting 
such  things  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  answered ,  Brett.     "  You  know  there  can- 


MARION  DAKCHE.  219 

not  be  any  truth  in  it  —  even  if  he  were  alive 
he  would  not  come  back.  I  know  it,  and  yet  if 
he  should,  it  would  be  so  horrible  that  I  cannot 
help  thinking  of  it.  You  know  what  it  would 
mean  if  that  man  were  to  return." 

"I  know  what  it  would  mean  to  me.  Do  not 
speak  of  it,  please." 

"I  must,  I  cannot  help  it.  I  feel  as  if  some- 
thing were  driving  me  to  speak.  You  did  not 
hear  the  whole  story.  They  said  the  man  was 
picked  up  in  mid-channel  by  an  Italian  ship 
more  than  seven  months  ago." 

"  Seven  months  ago  !  " 

"Even  the  time  would  fit  the  truth.  But  then 
—  stop.  Was  he  a  swimmer?  Yes — of  course — 
I  remember  him  at  Newport."  Brett  answered 
his  own  question.  "  The  ship  —  a  bark  they  called 
it  —  was  outward  bound,  and  could  not  put  in 
again.  She  was  on  her  way  to  Valparaiso.  You 
know  where  that  is,  all  the  way  round  by  the 
Straits  of  Magellan.  Something  happened  to  her, 
she  got  wrecked  or  something  —  they  say  that  a 
lot  of  the  crew  were  killed  and  eaten  up  by  the 
cannibals  in  Terra  del  Fuego.  John  Drake  — " 


220  MARION  DARCHE. 

"  John  Drake !  "  Marion  exclaimed. 

"Yes,  another  coincidence.  John  Drake  —  hor- 
ribly like  is  it  not?  —  managed  to  escape  with 
the  second  mate,  the  carpenter,  and  the  cabin  boy, 
got  across  to  the  Patagonian  country  —  there  are 
lots  of  details.  They  wandered  about  for  ever 
so  long,  and  at  last  turned  up  somewhere.  They 
were  all  Italians,  and  Drake,  who  had  no  papers, 
was  shipped  off  again  by  the  Consul  on  board 
of  another  Italian  ship.  That  accounts  for  six 
months,  with  the  bad  weather  they  had.  Then 
there  is  a  long  blank.  And  now  this  John  Drake 
turns  up  here — " 

"Yes  —  but  —  after  all,  if  he  changed  his  name, 
he  would  change  it  altogether."  She  stopped  and 
looked  at  him,  for  the  argument  seemed  conclusive. 

"That  is  not  the  only  point  that  is  not  clear," 
Brett  answered.  "But  the  names  are  so  dread- 
fully alike." 

"  But  there  is  a  very  great  difference !  "  Marion 
exclaimed.  "  There  are  a  great  many  Drakes  — 
but  Darche  is  a  very  uncommon  name." 

"That  is  the  reason  why  he  changed  it  so 
little." 


MARION   DABCHB.  221 

"  Oh,  why  do  you  suggest  such  a  possibility  — 
of  what  use  is  it  ?  Why  ? "  She  rose  suddenly 
and  began  to  move  about  the  room. 

"Because  I  am  a  fool,  I  suppose,"  Brett  an- 
swered, not  moving  from  his  seat.  "But  I  cannot 
help  it.  The  idea  has  taken  hold  of  me  and  I 
cannot  get  rid  of  it.  I  feel  as  though  that  man 
had  risen  from  the  dead  to  wreck  your  life." 

"  It  would  be  a  wreck  indeed ! "  said  Marion 
in  a  low  voice  that  had  a  sort  of  horror  in  it. 
"  You  could  not  save  me  this  time  —  not  even 

y.ou." 

"And  yet  —  " 

"What?" 

"No  —  I  ought  not  to  say  it." 

"  Mysteries  again  ?  "  Marion  stopped  beside  him 
and  looked  down  into  his  face. 

"The  same,  if  you  choose  to  call  it  a  mystery." 

"I  wish  you  would  speak  out,  my  dear  friend," 
said  Marion  gravely.  "I  feel  all  the  time  that 
there  is  something  in  your  mind  which  you  wish 
to  say  to  me,  but  which  you  will  not,  or  cannot, 
or  dare  not  say.  Am  I  right?" 

"To  some  extent." 


222  MARION  DABCHE. 

"  I  do  not "  think  you  understand  what  friend- 
ship really  means." 

"Friendship?"  Brett  exclaimed.  "For  you? 
No,  perhaps  I  do  not.  I  wish  I  did.  I  would 
give  a  great  deal  if  I  could." 

"I  do  not  in  the  least  understand,"  said  Marion, 
sitting  down  again.  "You,  my  best  friend,  tell 
me  in  the  most  serious,  not  to  say  mysterious  way, 
that  you  do  not  know  what  friendship  means, 
when  you  are  proving  every  day  that  you  do.  I 
hate  secrets !  Very  few  friendships  will  bear  them. 
I  wish  there  were  none  between  us." 

"Ah,  so  do  I!" 

"  Then  let  there  be  none,"  said  Marion  in  a  tone 
that  was  almost  authoritative.  "  Why  should  there 
be  ?  In  the  dear  old  times  when  I  was  so  unhappy 
and  you  were  so  good  to  me,  we  had  no  secrets, 
at  least  none  that  I  knew  of.  Why  should  we 
have  any  now?" 

"The  very  reason  why  there  must  be  one  at  all 
is  the  secret  itself.  Will  you  not  believe  me  if  I 
tell  you  that  it  would  hurt  you  very  much  to  know 
it?" 

"It  is  hard  to  believe,  and  I"  —  she  laughed  — 


MARION   DARCHE.  223 

"I  can  confess  to  a  reasonable  amount  of  curiosity 
on  the  subject." 

"Do  not  be  curious,"  said  Brett,  very  gravely, 
"please  do  not  be  curious.  You  might  find  it  out 
and  I  should  never  forgive  myself." 

"  But  if  I  forgave  you  —  " 

"That  would  make  no  difference.  That  would 
not  make  the  smallest  difference." 

"  What !  Not  to  you  ? "  Mrs.  Darche  glanced 
at  him  in  surprise. 

"Not  to  me,"  answered  Brett  with  decision.  "The 
harm  would  be  done." 

"  Utterly  incomprehensible  ! "  exclaimed  Marion 
as  though  speaking  to  herself.  "I  cannot  help 
asking  you  again,"  she  said  turning  to  Brett  again. 
"Tell  me,  has  it  anything  to  do  with  my  husband?" 

"Yes  it  has." 

"  Then  tell  me !  Tell  me,  for  heaven's  sake !  " 
By  this  time  she  was  growing  anxious. 

"Not  for  the  world,"  said  Brett  firmly. 

"You  do  not  know  how  unkind  you  are.  You 
do  not  know  —  you  do  not  know  how  much  your 
friendship  is  to  me,  and  how  you  are  letting  this 
wretched  mystery  come  between  us." 


224  MARION   DAB.CHE. 

"I  know  better,  better  than  you  can  guess." 

"And  you  are  keeping  it  to  yourself  because 
you  are  afraid  of  hurting  me  —  hurting  me!"  she 
repeated  bitterly.  "As  though  I  were  not  past 
hurting,  these  many  months,  as  though  I  had  not 
been  through  most  all  that  a  woman  can  bear  and 
live,  and  yet  I  have  borne  it  and  have  lived.  No, 
I  am  wrong.  I  can  still  be  hurt.  Two  things 
could  hurt  me.  If  by  some  horrible  miracle  John 
came  back  to  life,  and  if  — "  She  paused  and 
hesitated. 

"What?"  asked  Brett,  who  hardly  seemed  to 
be  listening  to  her. 

"If  you  allowed  anything  to  break  up  this 
friendship  of  ours.  But  the  one  is  impossible. 
John  is  dead,  and  I  have  lived  down  the  shame 
of  his  memory,  and  the  other  —  no,  it  would  be 
your  fault." 

"It  would  hurt  you  much  more  to  know  what 
I  am  keeping  from  you  than  to  lose  my  friendship, 
or  rather  your  friendship  for  me,"  said  Brett, 
shaking  his  head.  "Mine  you  cannot  lose,  what- 
ever you  do.  I  am  giving  you  the  best  proof  of 
it  now." 


MARION   DARCHE.  225 

"And  do  you  mean  to  say  that  after  all  that 
came  out  in  those  dark  days,  that  after  the  trial 
and  conviction,  and  my  husband's  escape  and  his 
horrible  end,  that  there  is  still  worse  behind?  — 
that  he  left  something  which  you  know  and  I  do 
not  know,  but  which,  if  I  knew  it,  could  still  have 
the  power  to  wreck  my  life  and  break  what  is  the 
best  part  of  me — yes,  I  am  not  ashamed  to  say 
so — the  best  part  of  me  —  our  friendship.  I  am 
not  tired  of  the  sound  of  that  word  yet,  nor  shall 
be.  Do  you  mean  that?  Do  you  really  mean 
what  you  say?" 

"  Yes,"  answered  Brett,  who  had  nodded  at  each 
of  her  questions.  "  I  mean  that  there  is  something 
which  I  know,  and  of  which  the  knowledge  might 
ruin  the  happiness  you  have  found  since  you  have 
been  alone.  And  yet  you  ask  me  to  tell  you  what 
it  is,  when  no  possible  good  could  come  from  your 
knowledge  of  it." 

"  Yes,  I  do,"  said  Marion,  emphatically.  "  And 
as  for  my  happiness,  you  are  killing  it  with  every 
word  you  say.  You  have  knocked  from  under 
my  feet  the  security  of  my  position  and  you 
have  taken  the  good  out  of  what  was  best 


226  MARION  DABCHE. 

by  saying  that  a  word  from  you  would  spoil 
it.  What  is  there  left  now  but  to  tell  me  the 
truth?" 

"Your  belief  in  me,  if  you  ever  had  any  —  and 
I  know  that  you  had,  as  I  hope  that  you  still  have." 

"My  belief  in  you?"  Marion  paused,  looked 
at  him  and  then  turned  away.  "  Yes,  but  the 
more  I  believe  in  you,  the  more  I  must  believe 
every  word  you  say  —  " 

While  she  was  speaking,  Stubbs  opened  the 
door,  and  entered  the  room,  bringing  a  card. 

"The  person  wishes  to  see  you,  madam,"  he 
said,  holding  out  the  silver  salver. 

Mrs.  Darche's  face  betrayed  some  annoyance  at 
the  interruption  as  she  took  up  the  card  and 
read  the  name.  "  W.  H.  Wood,  Associated  Press. 
What  does  this  mean  ?  "  she  asked  turning  to  Brett. 
"Do  you  know  the  man?" 

"  Evidently  a  reporter,"  said  Brett. 

"  Tiresome  people,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Darche.  "  I 
wonder  what  in  the  world  he  wants.  Perhaps  he 
has  made  a  mistake.  At  all  events  there  is  no 
reason  why  I  should  see  him.  Say  that  I  am 
engaged,"  she  added,  turning  to  Stubbs. 


MARION   DARCHE.  227 

"  Wait  a  minute,  Stubbs,"  said  Brett,  calling 
after  the  man.  "Do  not  send  him  away,"  he 
added,  turning  to  Marion.  "  Let  me  see  him." 

"Why?"  she  asked. 

"I  have  an  idea  that  he  has  come  about  that 
story  that  has  got  into  the  papers,"  said  Brett  in 
a  low  voice. 

"  Impossible !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Darche  with  great 
emphasis. 

"  No,"  objected  Brett,  "  there  is  just  a  possibility, 
and  if  it  should  be  that,  some  one  had  better 
see  him.  Something  very  disagreeable  might  be 
written,  and  it  is  better  to  stop  it  at  once." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Mrs.  Darche,  yielding.  "  If 
you  really  think  it  is  better,  see  him  here.  Ask 
Mr.  Wood  to  come  in,"  she  said  to  Stubbs,  as  she 
passed  him  and  went  out. 


CHAPTER   X. 

BRETT  stood  before  the  fireplace  as  the  reporter 
entered  the  room  —  a  quiet,  pale  young  man 
with  a  pinched  face,  smooth  brown  hair  and  thin 
hands  which  somehow  conveyed  the  impression 
of  sadness. 

"I  asked  to  see  Mrs.  Darche,"  he  said  apolo- 
getically. 

"  Mrs.  Darche  is  engaged,"  answered  Brett.  "  I 
am  a  friend  of  hers  and  will  answer  any  questions 
so  far  as  I  can." 

."Thank  you.  I  have  no  doubt,  sir,  that  you 
are  often  troubled  by  us.  You  know  the  reporter 
has  to  be  everywhere.  I  will  not  take  any  more 
of  your  time  than  I  can  help.  I  understand  that 
Mrs.  Darche  and  her  friends  are  to  take  part  in 
some  tableaux  for  a  charitable  purpose  at  the  end 
of  the  week  —  " 

"I  fancy  there  is  some  mistake  about  that," 
said  Brett.  "Mrs.  Darche  is  in  mourning." 

228     • 


MAKION   DAKCHB.  229 

"Precisely,"  said  Mr.  Wood.  "I  daresay  Mrs. 
Darche  would  be  glad  to  have  the  report  denied. 
I  understand,  then,  that  there  are  not  to  be  any 
tableaux." 

"  I  believe  there  is  to  be  something  of  the 
kind,  but  Mrs.  Darche  has  nothing  to  do  with  the 
affair  —  beyond  giving  her  advice,  I  think.  She 
would  certainly  not  care  very  much  to  be  talked 
of  in  the  papers  just  now." 

"Just  so,"  replied  Mr.  Wood  readily.  "I  quite 
understand  that  there  is  a  prejudice  against  it, 
and  of  course  Mrs.  Darche 's  name  shall  not  ap- 
pear. But  you  do  not  know  what  a  great  inter- 
est our  readers  take  in  social  doings.  Our  paper 
has  a  very  large  circulation  in  the  West." 

"I  am  very  glad  to  know  it.  Would  it  not 
be  enough  just  to  mention  the  fact  that  there  are 
to  be  some  tableaux  for  a  charity  ?  " 

"  If  you  would  give  me  a  hint  about  the  sub- 
jects. Historical?  One  or  two  names  would  be 
very  useful." 

"Really  I  do  not  think  that  any  of  us  care  to 
see  our  names  in  the  paper,"  said  Brett. 

"  I  will  be  as  discreet  as  you  wish  —  Mr.  — " 


230  MAKION   DARCHE. 

"My  name  is  Brett." 

"Mr.  Brett,"  repeated  the  reporter,  making  a 
note.  "  May  I  inquire,  Mr.  Brett,  if  you  your- 
self take  a  part  in  the  entertainment?" 

"Well  — yes  — I  do." 

"Any  particular  costume?" 

"Yes — "  Brett  hesitated  slightly  and  smiled. 
"Yes.  Particular  costumes  are  rather  the  rule  in 
tableaux." 

"I  do  not  wish  to  be  indiscreet,  of  course." 

"  No,  I  daresay  not.  I  believe  I  am  to  be 
Darnley." 

"Thank  you."  Here  Mr.  Wood  made  another 
note.  "Miss  Maylands  as  Queen  Mary  Stuart? 
Is  the  report  correct?" 

"I  believe  so,"  answered  Brett,  coldly. 

"Thank  you.  Thank  you,  Mr.  Brett.  If  you 
could  oblige  me  with  one  or  two  more  names  I 
could  fix  it  nicely." 

"I  suppose,  Mr.  Wood,  that  you  mean  to  say 
something  about  it  whether  I  tell  you  or  not?" 

"Well,  now,  Mr.  Brett,"  replied  the  reporter, 
assuming  a  more  confidential  manner,  "to  be  quite 
frank,  that  is  just  what  happens.  We  do  not 


MARION    DAKCHE.  281 

like  to  tire  people  out  with  questions  they  do  not 
care  to  answer,  but  the  social  column  has  to  be 
filled  somehow,  and  if  we  do  not  get  the  news  for 
it,  it  is  sometimes  made  up  in  the  office." 

"So  I  have  often  been  led  to  believe  from 
reading  it,"  said  Brett.  "There  are  to  be  three 
tableaux,  from  well-known  pictures,  in  which  Miss 
Maylands,  Mr.  Russell  Vanbrugh,  myself,  and  a 
few  others  are  to  take  part.  The  affair  is  to 
take  place,  I  think,  at  Mrs.  Trehearne's  house." 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Brett.     Dancing  afterwards?" 

"I  do  not  know." 

"Pardon  me.  Supper  furnished  by  Delinonico, 
I  suppose?" 

"Well  I  really  have  not  asked.      I  daresay."  •.<£. 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Brett.  Delmonico."  Mr. 
Wood's  pencil  noted  the  fact.  Brett  began  to 
think  that  he  had  had  enough  of  the  interview, 
and  deliberately  lighting  a  cigarette  looked  at  the 
reporter.  "Anything  else  you  would  like  to 
know,  Mr.  Wood?" 

"Well,  since  you  ha.ve  been  so  very  obliging, 
Mr.  Brett,  I  would  like  to  ask  you  a  question." 

"  All  right,"  said  Brett,  resignedly.     "  Go  ahead." 


232  MARION  DARCHE. 

"Mrs.  Darche  is  a  widow,  I  understand." 

«  Yes." 

"Mr.  Darche  was  the  unfortunate  victim  of  an 
accident  several  months  ago,  I  believe?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Then  of  course  there  can  be  no  truth  in  the 
story  that  he  arrived  in  New  York  yesterday?" 

"What  story?"  Brett  asked,  turning  sharply 
upon  the  young  man. 

"I  thought  perhaps  you  might  have  seen  it  in 
this  morning's  paper,"  answered  Wood  quietly. 
"But  perhaps  you  would  not  have  noticed  it,  as 
there  was  a  misprint  in  the  name.  A  man  came 
to  the  office  yesterday  and  told  the  editor  in 
charge  that  Mr.  John  Darche,  who  fell  overboard 
last  spring  from  a  steamer,  and  was  supposed  to 
have  been  drowned,  had  turned  up,  and  that  he 
had  seen  him.  I  guess  he  was  a  crank.  There 
are  lots  of  them  hanging  around  the  office,  and 
sometimes  they  get  a  drink  for  a  bit  of  sensation." 

"Oh!  is  that  the  way  news  is  manufactured?" 
inquired  Brett,  with  some  contempt. 

"Not  in  our  office,  Mr.  Brett,"  replied  the 
reporter,  drawing  himself  up.  "You  can  see  for 


MARION  DARCHE.  233 

yourself  that  we  only  get  our  information  from 
the  most  reliable  sources.  If  that  were  not  so,  I 
should  not  have  disturbed  you  to-day.  But  as 
there  is  no  doubt  in  your  mind  that  Mr.  Darche 
is  positively  dead,  I  daresay  that  Mrs.  Darche 
would  be  glad  to  have  the  report  of  her  husband's 
return  contradicted?" 

"I  do  not  think  it  matters  much,  since  the 
name  was  printed  Drake." 

"  Pardon  me,"  said  Wood.  "  Some  of  the  papers 
printed  it  correctly,  and  others  are  going  to  do  so. 
I  just  saw  two  gentlemen  from  an  evening  paper, 
and  they  have  got  it  straight  for  this  after- 
noon." 

"You  do  not  mean  to  say  that  the  papers 
believe  the  story?"  asked  Brett  in  real  or  affected 
surprise. 

,  "  Oh  no,  Mr.  Brett,  they  give  it  for  what  it  is 
worth." 

"With  headlines  a  foot  high,  I  suppose?" 

"Well,  perhaps  some  of  the  papers  will  do  so," 
answered  the  young  man  with  a  smile. 

Brett's  manner  changed  as  he  realised  that  he 
could  not  afford  to  let  the  reporter  take  away  a 


234  MAKION   DABCHE. 

wrong  impression.     He  sat  down  and  pointed  to  a 
chair.     "Take  a  cigarette,  Mr.  Wood." 

"No,   I    thank   you,   I    do    not    smoke.      Thank 

you." 

Mr.  Wood  sat  down  upon  the  edge  of  the  chair 
beside  Brett,  who  looked  at  him  fixedly  for  a 
moment  before  speaking.  "I  do  not  suppose  that 
it  is  necessary  for  me  to  repeat  that  this  story  is 
an  absurd  fabrication,  and  that  if  there  is  a  man 
who  is  going  about  and  calling  himself  John 
Darche,  he  ought  to  be  in  jail." 

"  Certainly,  Mr.  Brett,  I  am  quite  of  that 
opinion." 

"  Then  would  you  mind  helping  me  to  get 
hold  of  him?  Where  is  the  man  to  be  heard  of?" 

"  That  is  another  matter,  Mr.  Brett.  I  shall  be 
happy  to  see  that  the  report  is  denied.  But 
whether  the  man  is  an  impostor  or  not,  it  will  be 
hard  to  find  him.  That  will  not  matter.  We 
will  explain  everything  to-morrow  morning,  and  it 
will  all  be  forgotten  by  the  next  day.  You  say 
you  are  quite  sure,  Mr.  Brett,  that  Mr.  Darche 
was  not  picked  up  when  he  fell  overboard?" 

"  Sure  !  "  answered  Brett,  authoritatively. 


MARION   DABOHB.  235 

"  I  see,"  said  Wood.  "  Thank  you.  I  understand 
that  it  was  in  winter,  in  rough  weather,  and  that 
the  efforts  made  to  save  him  were  in  vain." 

"  On  the  contrary,  it  was  a  calm,  warm  night 
in  May.  It  is  certainly  strange  that  they  should 
not  have  been  able  to  save  him.  That  ought  to 
prove  beyond  question  that  he  sank  at  once." 

"  There  is  no  doubt  about  that,  I  should  think," 
replied  the  reporter  without  much  conviction.  "I 
won't  detain  you  any  longer,  Mr.  Brett.  The 
report  shall  be  denied  at  once.  Will  you  allow 
me  to  oise  your  name  as  authority  for  these 
details?" 

"Everybody  knows  the  story." 

"Pardon  me.  Our  paper  has  a  very  large  cir- 
culation in  the  West,  and  a  well-known  name  like 
yours  lends  great  weight  to  any  statement." 

"  I  did  not  know  that  my  name  was  so  particu- 
larly well  known,"  observed  Brett. 

"Why,  certainly,  Mr.  Brett.  Your  yacht  won 
a  race  last  year.  I  remember  it  very  well." 

"That  might  be  a  claim  to  distinction,  but  I 
never  had  a  yacht." 

"Not  fond  of  the  sea,  Mr.  Brett?" 


236  MARION  DABCHB. 

"Oh,  yes,  I  like  it  well  enough,"  said  Brett, 
rising,  as  though  he  wished  it  understood  that  the 
interview  was  at  an  end.  "You  will  distinctly 
deny  this  report,  will  you  not  ?  " 

"  You  can  rely  upon  me  to  say  just  what  you 
have  said  to  me,  Mr.  Brett." 

"Very  well.  Thank  you.  Then  you  will  be 
good  enough  to  say  that  there  is  not  a  word  of 
truth  in  it,  and  warn  people  against  the  man  who 
calls  himself  Darche  ?  " 

"Certainly,  certainly.  Thank  you,  Mr.  Brett. 
Good  morning,  Mr.  Brett." 

"  Good  morning." 

Brett  followed  the  reporter  with  his  eyes  till 
the  door  closed  behind  him.  He  felt  as  though 
he  had  distinctly  got  the  worst  of  it  in  the  en- 
counter, and  yet  he  could  not  see  how  he  could 
have  said  less.  And  that  was  how  stories  got 
about,  he  thought.  If  he  had  not  seen  the  re- 
porter, —  if  the  latter  had  been  turned  away  as 
Mrs.  Darche  had  intended,  the  story  of  Darche's 
return  would  have  been  reported  again  and  again. 
That,  at  least,  thought  Brett,  was  prevented  for 
the  present. 


MAKION   DAECHE.  237 

Nevertheless,  as  he  stood  alone  during  those 
few  moments  before  sending  word  to  Marion  that 
the  reporter  was  gone,  Brett's  face  betrayed  his 
terrible  anxiety.  He  hesitated.  More  than  once 
his  hand  went  out  towards  the  bell  and  dropped 
again  by  his  side.  At  last  he  made  up  his  mind, 
touched  the  button,  and  sent  Stubbs  with  his 
message  to  Mrs.  Darclie. 

"  Well  ? "  she  asked  as  she  entered  the  room. 

"  It  is  all  right,"  he  answered.  "  It  was  about 
the  charity  tableaux.  I  did  not  want  to  go  away 
without  seeing  you,  so  I  sent  Stubbs  — " 

"  You  are  not  going  this  moment  ?  "  Marion 
looked  at  him  in  surprise. 

She  was  further  than  ever  from  understanding 
him.  He  seemed  to  act  suddenly  and  irrationally. 
A  quarter  of  an  hour  earlier  he  had  been  almost 
his  old  self,  in  spite  of  his  strange  references  to  a 
mystery  which  he  could  not  communicate  to  her, 
and  now  he  had  changed  again  and  resumed  the 
incomprehensible  manner  he  had  affected  of  late. 
He  seemed  anxious  to  get  away  from  her,  even  at 
the  cost  of  seeming  rude.  Then,  as  he  held  out 
his  hand  to  say  good-bye,  he  surprised  her  more 
than  ever. 


238  MARION    DARCHE. 

"If  you  will  allow  me,"  he  said,  "I  will  come 
back  in  the  course  of  the  afternoon." 

"  Certainly,"  she  answered,  staring  at  him  as  she 
shook  hands. 

A  moment  later  he  was  gone,  leaving  Marion 
in  considerable  perplexity  and  some  anxiety  of 
mind. 

When  Brett  left  the  house  he  went  in  search 
of  Vanbrugh,  whom  he  ultimately  found  at  a  club. 
The  conversation  which  had  taken  place  between 
three  men  who  were  spending  the  long  afternoon 
between  letter-writing,  the  papers,  and  gossip,  is 
worth  recording. 

It  was  about  five  o'clock.  The  names  of  the 
men  were  Goss,  Greene,  and  Bewlay,  and  they 
were  rather  insignificant  persons,  but  gentlemen, 
and  all  acquainted  with  the  actors  of  this  story. 
Goss  was  seated  in  a  deep  leathern  easy-chair 
with  a  paper.  Greene  was  writing  a  letter,  and 
Bewlay  was  exceedingly  busy  with  a  cigar  while 
waiting  for  some  one  to  say  something. 

"Well!"  exclaimed  Goss.  "  That  beats  the 
record ! " 

"I   say,"   said  Greene,  looking  up  and  speaking 


MARION  DARCHE.  239 

sharply,  "  I  wish  you  would  not  startle  a  fellow 
in  that  way.  My  nerves  are  not  of  the  best  any 
way.  What  is  the  matter  ?  " 

"  Oh,  nothing  in  particular,"  said  the  first  speaker. 
"  John  Darche  has  come  back  to  life  agaim  I 
thought  he  was  drowned  last  May." 

"Stuff!"  ejaculated  Greene,  testily. 

"All  right.  I  do  not  want  to  disturb  your 
correspondence." 

"What  is  that  about  John  Darche?"  inquired 
Bewlay,  delighted  at  hearing  a  voice. 

"  Some  rubbish  or  other,"  answered  Goss.  "  It 
is  the  fashion  to  resurrect  people  nowadays  —  sort 
of  way  the  newspapers  have  of  getting  ahead  of  the 
day  of  judgment.  If  this  goes  on,  that  entertain- 
ment will  not  draw." 

"What  is  it,  any  way?" 

"  Headlines  to  begin  with.  '  The  return  of  the 
prodigal  —  John  W.  Darche,  alive  and  asking 
questions.  Accident  —  not  suicide  —  interview  with 
Mr.  Henry  C.  Brett.'" 

"What  the  dickens  has  Brett  got  to  do  with 
it?"  asked  Greene,  looking  up  from  his  letter 
again. 


240  MARION   DARCHE. 

"  They  say  he  is  engaged  to  marry  Mrs.  Darche," 
said  Bewlay,  in  explanation. 

"That  is  another  ridiculous  story,"  answered 
Greene.  "  I  happen  to  know  he  is  as  good  as 
engaged  to  Miss  Maylands." 

"Let  me  see  the  paper,  please,"  said  Bewlay. 

"No,  I  will  read  it,"  said  Goss,  shifting  his 
position  so  as  to  get  a  better  light.  "Then  you 
can  all  hear.  '  Our  reporter  called  this  after- 
noon at  the  house  of  Mrs.  John  W.  Darche,  the 
beautiful  and  accomplished  widow  who  so  long 
dispensed  her  hospitality  in  Lexington  Avenue. 
The  beauteous  lady  was  doubtless  engaged  in 
the  consideration  of  the  costumes  for  certain 
charity  tableaux  in  which  her  mourning  prevents 
her  from  taking  a  part,  but  in  which  her  artistic 
taste  and  advice  are  invaluable  to  the  performers, 
and  our  reporter  was  received  by  Mr.  Henry  C. 
Brett,  the  well-known  lawyer,  yachtsman,  and 
patron  of  the  turf,  who  is  to  play  the  part  of 
Darnley  to  Miss  Maylands'  Queen  Mary  of 
Scotland  in  the  artistic  treat  which  awaits  the 
favoured  and  charitable  to  whom  invitations  have 
been  tendered.  Mr.  Brett  was  kind  enough  to 


MARION  DABCHE.  241 

answer  a  few  questions  regarding  the  report  of 
Mr.  John  Darche's  return  to  New  York  which 
appeared  in  the  mornjng  papers.  Mr.  Brett  af- 
fected to  treat  the  story  with  unconcern,  but  it 
was  evident  from  his  anxious  manner  and  from 
his  somewhat  nervous  bearing  that  he  was  deeply 
moved,  though  he  bravely  "took  arms  against  the 
sea  of  troubles."  Mr.  Brett  said  repeatedly  in  the 
course  of  the  conversation  that  the  story  was  an 
absurd  fabrication,  and  if  there  was  a  man  going 
around  calling  himself  John  Darche  he  ought  to 
be  in  jail.  He  professed  to  be  quite  sure  that  Mr. 
Darche  was  dead,  but  was  obliged  to  admit  that 
there  was  no  evidence  forthcoming  to  certify  to  the 
tragedy.  "The  accident,"  said  Mr.  Brett,  <." hap- 
pened on  board  of  a  channel  steamer  more  than 
seven  months  ago.  It  was  a  calm,  warm  night 
in  May.  Two  ladies  were  lying  in  their  chairs 
on  the  quarter-deck  engaged  in  conversation.  Sud- 
denly in  the  mysterious  gloom  they  noticed  the 
muffled  figure  of  a  gentleman  passenger  leaning 
over  the  rail  hard  by  them.  A  moment  later 
the  figure  was  gone.  There  was  a  dull  splash 
and  all  was  over.  They  at  once  realised  the 

19_VoL  9 


242  MARION   DARCHE. 

horrid  situation  and  cried  aloud  for  help,  but  there 
seems  to  have  been  no  one  else  on  deck  in  that 
part  of  the  boat.  Many  .minutes  elapsed  before 
they  could  explain  what  they  had  seen,  and  the 
necessary  orders  were  given  for  stopping  the 
steamer.  The  Captain  then  retraced  his  course, 
lowered  a  number  of  boats,  and  every  effort  was 
made  to  prosecute  the  search  until  far  into  the 
night  when  the  steamer,  which  carried  mails,  was 
reluctantly  obliged  to  resume  her  way.  His 
body,"  said  Mr.  Brett  in  conclusion,  "was  never 
found."  Mr.  Brett,  as  was  very  natural,  was  more 
than  anxious  that  the  report  should  be  denied, 
but  in  the  face  of  the  facts  he  himself  stated 
with  such  pellucid  clearness,  it  is  impossible  to 
say  conscientiously  that  the  story  of  Mr.  Darche's 
return  may  not  be  true.  The  fact  remains  that 
a  gentleman  whose  name  is  undoubtedly  Darche 
is  now  in  New  York,  and  if  he  is  really  Mr. 
John  Darche  of  Lexington  Avenue,  steps  will  be 
taken  to  set  all  doubts  at  rest  before  twenty- 
four  hours  have  expired.'  I  daresay  you  are  not 
surprised  at  my  exclamation  now,  after  reading 
that,"  said  Goss,  looking  round  at  his  hearers. 
"  Pretty  serious  for  Brett." 


MARION   DAROHE.  243 

"  Pretty  serious  for  Mrs.  Darche,"  observed 
Greene. 

"Pretty  serious  for  everybody,"  said  Bewlay, 
smoking  thoughtfully. 

"That  is,"  suggested  Greene,  "if  it  is  not  all 
a  fake,  which  is  probably  the  truth  about  it." 

"  Has  anybody  seen  Brett  here  ?  "  inquired  Goss. 

At  this  point  the  conversation  was  interrupted 
by  the  entry  of  Mr.  Brown,  who  was  also  a 
member  of  the  club. 

"  Is  Brett  here  ? "  he  asked,  looking  about. 

"Just  what  I  was  asking,"  answered  Goss. 
"  I  suppose  you  have  seen  this  ?  " 

"  About  Darche  ?     Yes.     I  am   afraid  it  is  true." 

"  What !.  You  do  not  believe  it  ? "  Greene 
was  the  most  sceptical  of  the  party. 

"  Have  you  seen  him  ? "  asked  Bewlay. 

"  No,"  answered  Mr.  Brown.  "  I  have  not  seen 
him,  but  I  mean  to  before  long.  This  is  much 
too  serious  to  be  flying  about  in  the  papers  like 
this.  Imagine  what  would  happen  if  it  fell  into 
Mrs.  Darche's  hands.  Why  it  is  enough  to  kill 
any  ordinary  woman  on  the  spot !  To  think  that 
that  infernal  blackguard  may  not  be  dead  after 
all." 


244  MARION   DARCHE. 

"  You  seem  to  feel  rather  strongly  on  the 
subject,"  observed  Greene.  "  Are  you  engaged 
to  marry  Mrs.  Darche  too?" 

"  Nonsense  !  "  ejaculated  Brown.  "  I  am  in  ear- 
nest. Just  put  yourself  in  her  position." 

"  For  my  part  I  had  rather  not,"  replied  Goss 
with  a  smile.  "  But  I  agree  with  Brown.  A 
more  unmitigated  blackguard  than  John  Darche 
never  breathed  the  unholy  air  of  Wall  Street. 
The  only  decent  thing  about  him  was  his  suicide, 
and- now  virtue  is  to  be  cheated  of  that." 

"  Mrs.  Darche  never  speaks  of  him,  I  believe  ?  " 
The  question  came  from  Bewlay. 

"  He  did  not  return  the  civility,"  said  Goss. 
"I  have  heard  him  talk  about  his  wife  in  this 
very  room  —  well — I  won't  say  how,  but  he  was 
a  brute." 

"  Judging  from  j^our  language  you  must  be 
talking  about  Darche,"  said  a  fifth  speaker.  Van- 
brugh  had  entered  the  room. 

"Yes,"  answered  Brown,  "we  were.  The  damn- 
ing was  going  on,  but  we  had  not  got  to  the 
faint  praise.  What  do  you  think  about  all  this, 
Vanbrugh?" 


MARION  DARCHE.  245 

"The  question  must  be  settled  one  way  or  the 
other  before  to-night,"  answered  the  last  comer. 
"If  Darche  is  really  alive  the  fact  must  be  kept 
quiet  until  to-morrow  and  then  some  one  must  tell 
his  wife.  I  propose  that  we  elect  a  committee  of 
action,  give  up  our  dinner  parties  if  we  have  any, 
and  go  and  find  the  fellow." 

"That  sounds  like  good  advice,"  said  Brown. 

"  We  might  as  well  look  for  a  Chinaman  in 
Pekin,"  put  in  Greene,  "  as  to  try  to  hunt  out  any 
particular  tough  in.  the  Bowery  at  this  time  of 
day." 

"We  can  try  any  way,"  said  Mr.  Brown,  who 
was  of  a  hopeful  temperament.  "  I  am  not  engaged 
to  dine  anywhere,  are  you,  Vanbrugh  ?  " 

"  No." 

"Then  come  along."  They  turned  towards  the 
door  and  were  just  going  out  when  Brett  met  them, 
looking  very  white. 

"  Hello,  Brett ! "  exclaimed  Brown.  "  You  are 
the  very  man  we  have  been  looking  for.  Come 
along  with  us  and  find  John  Darche." 

"  Wait  a  minute,"  said  Vanbrugh,  interposing. 
"Have  you  seen  this  interview?"  He  took  the 


246  MARION   DARCHE. 

paper  from  Greene  and  gave  it  to  Brett,  who  read 
rapidly  while  the  others  looked  on,  talking  in 
undertones. 

"Damn!"  he  exclaimed,  turning  to  the  others. 
"  Have  you  all  been  reading  this  stuff  ?  I  hope 
you  do  not  believe  that  is  what  I  said?  A  man 
came  to  the  house  after  luncheon.  You  fellows 
had  just  gone  and  I  was  going.  Mrs.  Darche  did 
not  want  to  see  him,  but  I  advised  her  to  let  me 
tell  him  what  ought  to  be  said  about  this  affair. 
He  tried  to  pump  me  about  the  charity  tableaux 
and  then  asked  me  about  Darche.  I  told  him  that 
it  was  all  an  absurd  fabrication,  and  he  promised 
to  say  so  and  to  deny  all  reports.  And  this  is 
the  result." 

"  Of  course  it  is,"  said  Greene.  "  The  natural 
result  of  putting  yourself  into  any  reporter's 
hands." 

"  I  would  like  to  say  a  word  for  the  reporter," 
said  Mr.  Brown  mildly.  "  The  paper  is  not  his. 
He  does  not  edit  it.  He  does  not  get  a  share  of 
the  profits,  and  when  he  interviews  people  he 
merely  is  doing  what  he  has  undertaken  to  do. 
He  is  earning  his  living." 


MARION  DARCHE.  247 

"Marriage  and  death  and  reporters  make  barren 
our  lives,"  observed  Greene  sourly,  and  some 
of  the  men  laughed. 

"I  say,  Brett,  how  much  of  this  did  you 
actually  say  ?  "  asked  Vanbrugh. 

"Not  a  word,  it  seems  to  me.  And  yet  I  see 
some  of  my  own  phrases  worked  in."  He  picked 
up  the  paper  and  looked  at  it  again.  "Yes,  I 
did  say  that  it  was  a  warm  May  night.  I  did  say 
that  his  body  was  never  found.  Yes,  that  is  true 
enough.  How  the  deuce  does  the  fellow  manage 
to  twist  it  so  ?  " 

"Does  it  not  strike  you  that  the  reporter  has 
only  shown  you  your  own  account  in  the  light  in 
which  other  people  will  look  at  it  ? "  inquired 
Mr.  Brown,  sententiously. 

"Oh,  confound  it  all,  Brown,  how  can  you  say 
such  a  thing?"  exclaimed  Brett. 

"  Well,  I  will  explain,"  replied  Mr.  Brown. 
"  Here  are  the  facts,  by  your  own  showing.  On 
a  warm  evening  in  spring,  and  in  calm  weather, 
John  Darche  fell  overboard.  I  do  not  say  he 
threw  himself  overboard,  though  it  was  said  that 
he  did,  to  get  away  from  the  detective,  possibly  it 


248  MARION  DARCHB. 

may  have  been  an  accident  after  all.  We  do 
not  know.  He  was  seen  to  go  over  by  some  one, 
possibly  by  two  ladies.  It  was  very  likely  at 
supper-time.  We  do  not  know  that  either.  But 
it  is  quite  sure  that  there  were  not  many  people 
about.  The  ladies  screamed,  as  was  natural, 
called  for  help  and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  But 
on  a  calm  May  night  those  channel  boats  run 
very  fast.  They  did  not  cry  out  '  man  over- 
.  board ! '  as  a  sailor  would  have  done,  and  very 
probably  five  minutes  elapsed  before  the  Captain 
gave  the  order  to  stop.  In  that  time  the  boat 
would  have  run  a  mile  and  a  half.  It  could  not 
stop  inside  of  half  a  mile.  Well,  do  you  know 
anything  about  the  tides  and  currents  in  the 
Channel?  The  steamer  could  not  have  gone  back 
to  the  point  at  which  Darche  was  lost  much 
inside  of  twenty  minutes.  In  that  time  the 
current  may  have  carried  him  a  mile  or  more 
in  one  direction  or  the  other.  Every  one  remem- 
bers that  Darche  was  a  good  swimmer.  As  it 
happened  in  May,  he  was  not  burdened  with 
an  overcoat,  or  thick  boots,  and  there  are  always 
vessels  about  in  the  Channel.  Why  is  it  so  very 


MARION  DARCHE.  249 

improbable  that  he  should  have  been  picked  up 
by  one,  outward  bound  —  " 

While  he  was  speaking,  Brett  played  nervously 
with  an  unlighted  cigar,  which  he  held  in  his 
hand. 

"A  sailing-vessel  outward  bound  from  England 
to  South  America  would  not  be  in  the  Channel," 
observed  Vanbrugh. 

"Nobody  said  she  was  from  England,"  re- 
torted Brown.  "She  may  have  been  from 
Amsterdam.  A  great  many  Italian  vessels  take 
in  cargo  there." 

"Surely  she  would  have  stopped  and  put 
Darche  ashore,"  said  Greene  with  conviction. 
But  the  others  laughed. 

"  You  are  not  much  of  a  sailor,"  said  Brown. 
"You  cannot  stop  a  sailing-vessel,  as  you  express 
it,  and  run  into  any  harbour  you  like  as  though 
she  were  a  steam-tug.  To  put  back  might  mean 
a  loss  of  two  or  three  weeks  to  the  captain. 
Upon  .my  soul,  Vanbrugh,  I  cannot  see  why 
it  is  so  improbable." 

",  You  are  not  in  earnest,  Brown  ? "  asked  Brett 
anxiouslv. 


250  MARION   DAECHE. 

"I  am,  though.  A  case  like  that  happened 
not  very  long  ago.  Everybody  knows  about  it. 
It  is  a  fact.  A  man  came  back  and  found  his 
wife  married  to  somebody  else." 

"  Enoch  Arden  ! "  suggested  Greene  contemptu- 
ously. 

"  Precisely  the  same  thing.  The  man  had  been 
living  somewhere  near  San  Francisco.  After  he 
came  back  he  found  his  wife  had  married  an  old 
friend  of  his  —  a  very  good  fellow.  He  would  not 
break  her  heart,  so  he  went  off  to  live  by  himself 
in  the  Rockies." 

"  I  wish  you  would  stop ! "  exclaimed  Brett, 
almost  livid. 

"I  wonder  it  does  not  strike  you  in  the  same 
way,"  continued  Mr.  Brown,  unmoved.  "You 
are  a  lawyer,  Vanbrugh.  Now  just  argue  the 
case,  and  meet  my  points." 

"  Well  really,  you  do  put  the  case  pretty 
strongly,"  answered  Vanbrugh  thoughtfully.  "If 
you  look  at  it  in  that  way,  there  certainly  is  a 
bare  shadow  of  a  possibility  that  Darche  may 
have  come  back." 

"Good  God,  Vanbrugh,  don't!"  cried  Brett. 


MARION   DARCHE.  251 

"  I  cannot  quite  help  it."  Vanbrugh  drew 
Brown  a  little  aside  and  spoke  in  a  lower  tone, 
but  Brett,  who  could  scarcely  control  himself, 
moved  up  behind  them.  "Look  here,  Brown," 
said  Vanbrugh,  "  we  ought  not  to  talk  like  this 
before  Brett.  After  all,  it  is  a  mere  possibility, 
one  chance  in  a  thousand." 

"  Considering  the  peculiarities  of  the  name," 
argued  Mr.  Brown,  "there  are  more  chances  than 
that." 

"  Possibly.  But  why  should  he  go  to  the  news- 
paper office  instead  of  hiding  altogether,  or  get- 
ting away  from  New  York  by  the  next  steamer?" 

"  That  is  true,"  assented  Mr.  Brown. 

"  I  say,  you  fellows,"  cried  Brett,  coming 
between  them.  "  Stop  that,  won't  you  ?  You  are 
both  infatuated.  Why,  you  must  be  mad!  Every- 
body knows  he  is  dead." 

"  It  is  certainly  probable,"  said  Mr.  Brown 
doubtfully,  "but  it  is  not  sure." 

"Do  not  get  excited,  Brett,"  said  Vanbrugh. 
"There  are  a  lot  of  men  looking  on.  Go  home 
and  leave  it  to  us.  We  will  find  the  man  and 
see  him  before  to-night." 


252  MARION   D  ARC  HE. 

"  I  am  going  with  you,"  said  Brett  resolutely. 

"No,  you  are  not,"  said  Vanbrugh,  looking  at 
him  curiously.  "  You  are  no  good.  You  are 
losing  your  head  already.  Go  home  and  keep 
quiet." 

"Yes,  it  would  be  much  better,"  urged  Mr. 
Brown.  "Besides,  two  of  us  are  quite  enough." 

"You  do  not  really  believe  it,"  Brett  said 
suddenly,  after  a  moment's  hesitation. 

"  Oh  no,  1  suppose  not,"  answered  Vanbrugh 
with  affected  indifference. 

"  Cheer  up,  old  man ! "  said  Mr.  Brown. 
"  There  may  not  be  anything  in  it  after  all." 

"  May  not  I "  exclaimed  Brett.  "  I  ought  not  to 
be  here,  anyhow,"  he  added,  speaking  to  Van- 
brugh. "He  may  ring  at  her  door  at  any 
moment."  And  without  further  words  he  dis- 
appeared into  the  hall. 

"  Brett  seems  to  be  pretty  badly  rattled," 
remarked  Greene. 

"Yes,"  answered  Goss.  "Strange,  is  it  not? 
Yet  you  are  quite  sure  that  he  is  to  marry  Miss 
Maylands  ?  " 

"It   is   not  safe   to   be   sure   of    anything,"   said 


MARION  DARCHB.  253 

Greene,  going  back  to  the  writing-table  and  fold- 
ing his  letter. 

"I  believe  it  is  true  that  he  has  come  back," 
mused  Bewlay,  relighting  his  cigar. 

"There  certainly  is  a  possibility,"  said  Van- 
brugh. 

"  Of  course  there  is,"  assented  Mr.  Brown. 

"  I  almost  believe  it  myself,"  said  Greene,  rising 
and  going  out  with  his  letter. 

"It  is  a  queer  story,  is  it  not?"  observed  Goss. 

"  Yes,"  answered  Bewlay.  "  It  has  made  me 
quite  thirsty." 

"Well,  this  is  a  good  stopping-place,"  replied 
the  other.  "  Ten  minutes  for  refreshments." 


CHAPTER    XL 

VANBRTJGH  and  Mr.  Brown  lost  no  time,  for  the 
former  knew  exactly  what  to  do.  Within  three- 
quarters  of  an  hour  they  had  been  to  headquarters 
in  Mulberry  Street,  had  ascertained  that  there 
was  ground  for  the  report  that  John  Darche  had 
returned,  that  the  police  were  making  haste  to 
secure  him  and  that  he  had  passed  the  night 
without  much  attempt  at  concealment,  in  a  sailors' 
lodging-house  on  the  east  side.  They  found  the 
place  without  difficulty,  and  were  informed  that 
the  man  Darche  had  gone  out  in  the  morning, 
leaving  his  few  effects  in  charge  of  the  lodging- 
house  keeper.  The  house  was  watched  by  detec- 
tives. Vanbrugh  asked  Brown  to  stay  at  the 
Mulberry  Street  Station  until  dinner-time  and 
then  to  bring  him  news  at  Mrs.  Darche's  in 
Lexington  Avenue,  whither  he  at  once  returned, 
fearing  some  trouble  and  anxious  to  give  timely 
warning. 

254 


MAEION  DARCHE.  255 

0 

He  knew  enough  .of  criminals  to  suspect  that 
Darche,  finding  himself  in  New  York  very  much 
against  his  will  and  doubtless  without  money, 
would  in  all  likelihood  attempt  to  obtain  money 
from  his  wife  to  aid  him  in  making  his  escape. 
He  would  probably  not  waste  time  in  writing,  but 
would  appear  in  person  at  the  house,  just  before 
dinner  when  he  would  know  that  Marion  must 
be  at  home,  and  he  would  have  little  or  no 
difficulty  in  forcing  his  way  into  her  presence. 

This  was  what  he  foresaw  in  case  the  man 
proved  to  be  really  John  Darche.  The  police  were 
satisfied  that  there  was  no  mistake,  and  that  a 
fortunate  accident  had  thrown  the  escaped  crimi- 
nal into  their  hands.  Nevertheless,  Vanbrugh 
had  doubts  on  the  subject.  The  coincidence  of 
name  was  possible,  if  not  probable,  and  no  one 
had  given  him  any  description  which  would  have 
applied  any  more  to  John  Darche  than  to  any 
other  man  of  his  age  and  approximately  of  his 
complexion.  The  lodging-house  keeper  was 
evidently  under  the  impression  that  the  man,  who- 
ever he  was,  must  be  a  sailor ;  but  any  one 
familiar  with  sea-faring  men  knows  that,  apart 


256  MARION  DARCHB. 

from  some  peculiarity  of  dress  there  is  often  very 
little  to  distinguish  them  from  landsmen,  beyond 
the  fact  that  no  seaman  ever  wears  spectacles,  and 
that  most  sailors  have  bronzed  faces.  But  a  lands- 
man is  easily  imposed  upon  by  a  "  guernsey,"  a 
jack-knife,  a  plug  of  tobacco,  and  a  peculiar  taste 
in  swearing. 

When  Brett  had  left  Marion  Darche  so  abruptly, 
she  had  gone  to  her  morning-room  and  shut  her- 
self up  to  think,  with  no  especial  result,  except 
that  she  was  very  unhappy  in  the  process.  She 
would  not  even  see  Dolly  Maylands,  who  came  in 
soon  afterwards,  but  sent  her  word  to  have  tea  in 
the  library  with  Cousin  Annie.  She  herself,  she 
said,  would  come  down  later.  She  begged  Dolly 
to  stay  to  dinner,  just  as  she  was. 

Dolly  was  busy  as  usual,  but  she  was  anxious 
about  her  friend  and  about  Brett,  and  her  own 
life  seemed  very  perplexing.  Men  were  very  odd 
creatures,  she  thought.  Why  did  Brett  hesitate 
to  ask  Marion  to  marry  him,  since  he  was  in  love 
with  her,  unless  he  were  sure  that  Marion  loved 
Vanbrugh,  or  at  least  liked  him  better?  And  if 
Vanbrugh  were  not  himself  in  love  with  Marion, 


MARION  DARCHE.  257 

an  idea  which  Dolly  scouted  with  wrath,  why  did 
he  not  offer  himself  to  her,  Dolly  Maylands? 
Considering  that  the  world  was  a  spheroid, 
thought  Dolly,  it  was  a  very  crooked  stick  of  a 
world,  after  all. 

"All  alone,  Dolly?"  asked  Mrs.  Willoughby, 
entering  the  library. 

"  Yes,"  answered  Dolly.  "  I  am  all  alone,  and 
I  am  tired,  and  I  want  some  tea,  and  Marion  is 
lying  down,  and  everything  is  perfectly  horrid. 
Do  sit  down  and  let  us  have  a  cosy  talk,  all  by 
ourselves." 

"Why  will  people  scramble  through  life  at  such 
a  rate?"  And  Mrs.  Willoughby  installed  her 
gray  self  in  an  easy-chair.  "I  have  told  Marion 
fifty  times  since  last  summer  that  she  will  break 
down  unless  she  gives  herself  a  rest." 

"My  dear  Mrs.  Willoughby,"  said  Dolly. 
"Marion  is  a  very  sensible  woman  and  manages 
her  existence  on  scientific  principles.  She  really 
gets  much  more  rest  than  you  or  I,  not  to  mention 
the  fact  —  well,  I  suppose  I  ought  not  to  say  it." 

"What?     Why  not?" 

"Well,    I    was    thinking    that    since    poor    Mr. 


258  MARION   DARCHE. 

Darche  was  drowned,  life  must  have  seemed  like 
one  long  rest  to  Marion." 

"  Oh  Dolly,  how  unkind ! "  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Willoughby,  and  then  paused  a  moment  before 
she  continued.  "But  I  suppose  there  is  some 
truth  in  it.  What  is  that  proverb?  'De —  de  — 
mort— '" 

"'De  mortuis  nil  nisi  —  something  like  bones,'" 
answered  Dolly  with  a  laugh. 

"What?     What  is  that?" 

"  Oh  nothing.  It  only  means  that  everybody 
should  say  the  nicest  possible  things  when  people 
are  dead.  That  was  what  you  meant.  But  I 
should  think  the  living  would  appreciate  them 
more." 

"Yes,  yes,"  assented  Mrs.  Willoughby  vaguely. 
"I  daresay  he  would." 

"He?  Who  is  he?"  asked  Dolly  with  affected 
surprise. 

"Oh  I  do  not  mean  anything,  my  dear.  I 
hardly  think  that  Marion  will  marry  again." 

"  I  suppose  they  are  admirably  suited  to  each 
other?" 

"Who?" 


MAKION   DARCHE.  259 

"  Who  ?  Why  Marion  and  Mr.  Vanbrugh.  Who 
else?"  Dolly  watched  Mrs.  Willoughby's  face. 

"  Oh,  I  was  not  thinking  of  that.  I  meant  Mr. 
—  hm  — "  She  interrupted  herself  in  fear  of  in- 
discretion. "Your  dress  will  be  complete  now 
with  the  lace,  will  it  not,  Dolly?" 

"  Oh  yes,"  answered  Dolly  in  a  careless  tone. 
"  It  was  just  like  Mr.  Vanbrugh,  was  it  not,  to  take 
all  that  trouble  to  find  the  very  thing  I  wanted?" 

"A  man  will  take  a  great  deal  of  trouble,  my 
dear,  when  he  wants  to  please  somebody  he  is 
fond  of." 

"Yes — but  me,"  suggested  Dolly,  just  to  see 
what  Cousin  Annie  thought. 

"Why  not  you?  Should  you  like  some  tea, 
Dolly?" 

"  Why  not  me  ?  I  suppose  because  I  am 
Marion's  friend,"  Dolly  answered. 

"Oh  yes,  if  you  like  to  put  it  in  that  way  — " 

Mrs.  Willoughby  was  interrupted  by  the  appear- 
ance of  Stubbs  bringing  in  the  tea. 

"Is  Mrs.  Darche  at  home  if  any  one  calls, 
Stubbs?"  she  inquired. 

"No,   madam.     Mrs.  Darche  is  upstairs  and  not 


260  MARION   DARCHB. 

at  home."  He  paused  a  moment  to  see  whether 
Mrs.  Willoughby  meant  to  say  anything  more, 
and  then  left  the  room. 

"Dear  Mrs.  Willoughby,  I  do  so  want  to  ask 
you  a  question,"  said  Dolly,  beginning  to  pour 
the  tea. 

"What  is  it,  my  dear?" 

"  One  lump  or  two  ? "  inquired  Dolly  with 
hesitation. 

"Is  that  all?"  asked  Mrs.  Willoughby  with  a 
slight  laugh. 

"Not  quite,"  answered  Dolly.  "Do  you  take 
milk?" 

"Please,  and  one  lump.  What  is  the  question, 
child?" 

"No,"  said  Dolly,  laughing  herself.  "It  was 
foolish  and  inquisitive,  and  all  sorts  of  horrid 
things.  I  think  I  had  better  not  ask  it." 

"About  Marion  and  Mr.  Brett?" 

"Why?"  Dolly  asked,  looking  up  quickly,  and 
then  hesitating.  "Is  there  anything?  I  mean  — 
yes,  that  is  what  I  meant  to  ask." 

"Well,  my  dear,"  answered  Mrs.  Willoughby  in 
a  confidential  tone,  "to  tell  the  truth  I  am  glad 


MARION   DARCHE.  261 

to  talk  to  somebody  about  it,  for  it  is  on  my  mind, 
and  you  know  that  Marion  does  not  like  to  answer 
questions." 

'*  Yes,  I  know.  Well,  so  you  think  there  is 
something  between  them?" 

"My  dear,  of  course  there  is,"  said  Mrs. 
Willoughby  without  hesitation.  "And  I  am  quite 
sure  that  something  has  happened  lately.  In 
fact,  I  believe  they  are  engaged  to  be  married." 

"Do  you  really?  And  —  and  —  where  does  Mr. 
Vanbrugh  come  in  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Vanbrugh  ?  I  am  sure  I  do  not  know. 
Perhaps  he  will  be  Harry  Brett's  best  man." 

"If  they  could  see  themselves  as  others  see 
them,"  reflected  Dolly  under  her  breath,  before 
she  answered  the  remark.  "They  would  make  a 
handsome  couple,  would  they  not?  But  you  are 
quite  mistaken,  dear  Mrs.  Willoughby  —  oh,  you 
are  quite  —  quite  mistaken."  She  looked  down 
and  sipped  her  tea. 

"How  do  you  know  that?"  asked  Mrs.  Wil- 
loughby. "  How  can  you  be  so  sure  ?  Do  you 
not  see  how  they  go  on  together,  always  sitting  in 
corners  and  talking  in  undertones?" 


262  MARION   DARCHE. 

"  Do  you  not  see  how  Marion  spoils  Mr. 
Vanbrugh,  and  gets  his  special  brand  of  cigarettes 
for  him,  and  always  asks  him  to  dinner  to  fill  up 
a  place,  and  altogether  behaves  like  an  idiot  about 
him?  You  must  be  blind  if  you  do  not  see  that. 
Let  me  give  you  another  cup  of  tea?" 

"Thanks,  I  have  not  finished,"  said  Cousin 
Annie.  "  Of  course,  my  dear  child,  no  two  people 
ever  look  at  things  from  the  same  point  of  view, 
but  I  was  thinking  —  " 

Stubbs  opened  the  door  again. 

"Mr.  Vanbrugh,"  he  announced. 

"  He  knew  you  were  here,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs. 
Willoughby  in  a  whisper.  "He  has  come  to  see 
you." 

"  Will  you  be  good-natured  and  forgive  my 
spoiling  your  tea  ?  "  asked  Vanbrugh,  as  he  entered 
the  room. 

"We  will  try,"  said  Dolly. 

"  Sit  down,"  said  Mrs.  Willoughby,  "  and  have 
some  with  us." 

"  Thanks,"  answered  Vanbrugh.  "  I  am  even 
ruder  than  I  seem,  for  I  am  in  a  hurry.  Do  you 
think  I  could  see  Mrs.  Darche?  For  a  minute?" 


MARION   DARCHE.  263 

"I  daresay,"  replied  Cousin  Annie,  doubtfully. 

"  Of  course  you  can.  She  is  upstairs  and  not 
at  home."  Dolly  laughed. 

"So  Stubbs  told  me,"  said  Vanbrugh,  "and  I 
came  in  to  ask  you  to  help  me.  I  am  very  glad 
I  have  seen  you  first.  I  know  it  is  late  and  I 
will  not  keep  you  a  moment.  There  is  something 
that  I  must  say.  I  have  just  been  at  the  club 
for  a  moment  and  Brown  came  in  and  four  or 
five  others.  There  is  certainly  an  impression  that 
John  Darche  has  really  come  back  again." 

"  Good  heavens !  "  cried  Mrs.  Willoughby, 
thoroughly  startled. 

"  Oh,  how  awful ! "  exclaimed  Dolly  in  real 
distress.  "But  you  were  all  saying  after  lunch- 
eon that  it  was  impossible." 

"  I  know,"  said  Vanbrugh.  "  I  know  we  were. 
But  it  looks  otherwise  now.  There  was  so  much 
talk  about  it  that  I  proposed  to  Brown  to  try  and 
find  the  man.  We  have  been  down  town  since 
then,  to  Mulberry  Street.  There  certainly  is  a 
man  knocking  about  under  the  name  of  John 
Darche,  who  landed  from  an  Italian  vessel  last 
night." 


264  MAKION  DAKCHB. 

"  Have  you  seen  him  ? "  asked  Dolly.  "  Oh, 
poor  Marion  ! " 

"  Dreadful,  dreadful ! "  repeated  Mrs.  Willoughby, 
staring  at  Vanbrugh. 

"  No,"  answered  the  latter  in  reply  to  Dolly's 
question,  "  we  have  not  seen  him,  but  we  shall 
have  him  this  evening." 

"  Here  ?  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Willoughby,  looking 
round  nervously. 

"  Here  in  this  house  ?  " 

"  Yes  —  or  at  least,  under  our  hand,"  said  Van- 
brugh. "  Brown  is  waiting  for  information  at  the 
Mulberry  Street  Station." 

"  To  bring  him  here  to-night  ? "  asked  Cousin 
Annie,  with  increasing  anxiety. 

"  No,  to  keep  him  from  coming." 

"  And  you  have  come  to  warn  Marion  ? "  in- 
quired Dolly. 

"  Yes,  in  a  way,"  answered  Vanbrugh.  "  But 
not  to  tell  her,  of  course.  I  want  her  to  give 
strict  orders  about  any  odd-looking  persons  who 
may  present  themselves.  I  mean  to  tell  her  that 
I  am  afraid  some  reporter  may  try  to  get  in, 
and  that  the  man  at  the  door  must  be  very 
careful." 


MARION   DARCHE.  265 

"I  will  go  to  her,"  said  Mrs.  Willoughby,  ris- 
ing. "  Mr.  Vanbrugh  —  if  he  comes,  if  it  is  really 
he,  he  cannot  be  turned  away  from  what  was  his 
own  house." 

"No,  but  he  shall  be  stopped  at  the  door,  and 
I  will  go  out  and  talk  to  him  and  persuade  him 
to  escape,  or  to  come  and  see  me  in  the  morning, 
if  he  is  mad  enough  to  stay." 

"Yes,  that  is  sensible,"  answered  Cousin  Annie. 
"  Shall  I  speak  to  my  niece  myself,  or  shall  I  make 
her  come  down?" 

Vanbrugh  hesitated  a  moment  and  looked  at 
Dolly,  who  answered  by  an  almost  imperceptible 
nod. 

"I  think,"  said  Vanbrugh,  "that  to  put  her  to 
any  inconvenience  would  make  the  matter  look 
more  serious  than  we  wish  her  to  think  it  is. 
Do  you  think  you  could  explain,  Mrs.  Willoughby  ? 
Give  her  the  idea  that  the  newspaper  man  Avho 
was  here  to-day  may  come  back  —  or  some  other 
person,  or  two  or  three.  Anything  of  that  sort." 

"I  will  do  my  best,"  answered  Mrs.  Willoughby. 
"You  will  wait  until  I  come  back,  will  you  not?" 

"  Of  course,"  replied  Vanbrugh,  as  she  left  the 
room.  20— Vol.  9 


266  MARION   DARCHE. 

"Do  you  think  it  is  really  true?"  asked 
Dolly. 

"  I  do  not  know  what  to  think.  Putting  all 
the  facts  we  have  together,  there  is  certainly  a 
possibility." 

"I  am  very,  very  sorry,"  said  Dolly,  after  a 
short  pause. 

"Poor  Mrs.  Darche!"  exclaimed  Vanbrugh. 
"After  all  these  months  of  freedom  she  has  had, 
it  will  break  her  heart." 

"  I  was  not  thinking  of  Marion,"  answered  Dolly. 

"Of  whom,  then?"  asked  Vanbrugh. 

"Of  —  of  —  some  one  else." 

"Yes,  I  know." 

"Yes,"  repeated  Dolly  with  marked  sympathy. 
"  Will  you  not  let  me  make  you  a  nice  cup  of  tea, 
Mr.  Vanbrugh?" 

"No,  thanks." 

"Will  you  not  light  a  cigarette?"  asked  Dolly. 
"Here  are  some  of  your  own." 

"No,  thanks,"  answered  Vanbrugh  absently. 
"I  have  just  smoked." 

"Do  sit  down  and  warm  yourself,"  said  Dolly, 
pushing  a  chair  towards  the  fire. 


MARION   DARCHE.  267 

"  Well  —  thanks  —  I  suppose  Mrs.  Willoughby  will 
be  gone  some  minutes.  Have  you  thought  of  what 
might  happen  if  Darche  were  alive  ? "  he  asked, 
reverting  to  the  subject  uppermost  in  his  mind. 

"I  do  not  like  to  think  of  it.  But  I  cannot 
help  thinking  of  it,"  she  answered  almost  inaudibly. 
"I  know  that  I  cannot,  and  I  hate  myself  and 
everybody." 

"  We  may  have  to  think  of  it  seriously  in  three 
or  four  hours,"  said  Vanbrugh.  "  Brown  will  bring 
me  word.  He  will  dine  with  me,  and  I  will  be 
within  reach  in  case  anything  happens." 

"  What  a  head  you  have ! "  exclaimed  Dolly. 
"You  ought  to  be  a  general." 

"It  is  simple  enough,  it  seems  to  me,  as  simple 
as  going  back  to  stop  an  express  train  when  there 
has  been  an  accident  on  the  line." 

"Yes,  but  it  is  always  the  one  particular  man 
who  has  more  sense  than  the  rest  who  thinks  of 
stopping  the  express  train." 

"  I  suppose  so,"  answered  Vanbrugh  indifferently. 
"  The  man  who  has  his  eyes  open.  It  is  odd,  is  it 
not,  that  the  happiness  of  so  many  people  should 
be  at  stake  on  one  day?" 


268  MARION   DARCHE. 

"So  many?" 

"Well,  three  at  least." 

"  Three  ?  Are  there  not  four  ? "  asked  Dolly, 
with  -a  smile. 

"There  is  Stubbs,  of  course,"  said  Vanbrugh 
thoughtfully ;  "  not  to  mention  a  lot  of  people 
who  would  not  be  particularly  glad  to  see 
Darche  back,  on  general  principles.  Well,  I  am 
sorry  for  them  all,  but  I  was  not  thinking  of 
them  especially." 

"  Whom  were  you  thinking  of  ? " 

"Some  one  not  concerned  in  the  matter — 
some  one,  I  cannot  say  nearest;  think  of  some- 
thing that  rhymes  with  it.  You  are  fond  of 
hymns  and  that  sort  of  thing." 

"Dearest?"  suggested  Dolly. 

"  Yes,  '  dearest ' ;   that  rhymes,  does  it  not  ?  " 

"Yes,  that  rhymes,"  assented  Dolly,  with  a 
little  sigh.  "Whom  were  you  thinking  of?"  she 
asked. 

"A  person." 

"  What  an  answer  I  And  what  an  expression  ! 
I  suppose  the  name  of  the  person  is  a  profound 
secret?" 


MARION   DARCHB.  269 

"It  has  been  a  secret  for  some  time,"  said 
Vanbrugh. 

"  Oh !  —  then  you  have  a  faithful  disposition  ?  " 
asked  Dolly  with  a  laugh. 

"  I  hope  so,"  answered  Vanbrugh,  smiling. 

"  Any  other  virtues  ?  " 

"Lots,"  he  laughed  in  his  turn. 

"I  am  so  glad." 

"Why?" 

"Virtue  makes  people  so  nice  and  safe,"  said 
Dolly,  "and  helps  them  to  bear  misfortune,  and 
to  do  almost  everything  except  enjoy  themselves." 

"What  an  appalling  code  for  a  Sunday  school 
teacher ! " 

"Do  not  laugh.     I  have  had  an  offer." 

"  Of  marriage  ? "  asked  Vanbrugh,  looking  at 
her. 

"No.  If  I  had,  I  would  not  tell  you.  I  have 
been  offered  twenty-five  dollars  a  month  to  teach 
at  a  Sunday  school- — a  visitor,  who  did  not  know 
me,  you  see,  and  wished  to  engage  me." 

"And  you  refused?" 

"  Yes.  Foolish  of  me,  was  it  not  ?  Twenty 
five  dollars — just  think!" 


270  MARION   DABCHB. 

"It  is  a  lot  of  money,"  laughed  Vanbrugh. 

"Several  pairs  of  gloves,"  said  Dolly  gravely. 
"But  I  refused.  You  know  the  proverb — 'be 
virtuous  and  you  will  be  happy,  but  you  will 
not  have  a  good  time.'"  • 

"And  you  mean  to  have  a  good  time.  I  have 
always  been  meaning  to — but  it  is  rather  dull, 
all  by  myself.  I  am  not  young  enough  to  be 
gay  alone — nor  old  enough  to  enjoy  being  sour." 

"There  is  a  remedy — get  married!"  Dolly 
smiled,  looked  grave,  and  then  smiled  again. 

"That  is  almost  easier  done  than  said,  if  one 
does  not  mind  whom  one  marries." 

"And  you  do  mind,  I  suppose?" 

"Yes — I  am  foolish  enough  to  care,"  answered 
Vanbrugh,  glancing  at  her. 

"To  care  for  some  particular  person — is  that 
rude,  or  indiscreet,  or  horrid  of  me?" 

"  Very !    But  I  will  forgive  you  on  one  condition." 

"I  never  accept  conditions." 

"Unconditional  surrender?     Is  that  it?" 

"Of  course,"  Dolly  answered  without  hesitation. 

"  I  surrender  unconditionally  —  at  discretion." 

"Oh  —  very  well.     Then  I  will  be  nice  and  ask 


MARION   DARCHE.  271 

what  the  condition  was  for  the  sake  of  which  you 
kindly  proposed  to  forgive  me  for  what  I  did  not 
do.  Come  —  what  is  it?" 

"  You  asked  if  I  cared  for  one  particular  person," 
said  Vanbrugh,  gently. 

"Yes.  Do  you?"  He  could  hardly  distinguish 
the  words. 

"I  will  tell  you,  if  you  will  answer  the  same 
question." 

"  You  answer  first." 

"  Yes.  That  is  the  answer."  His  hand  stole  out 
towards  hers. 

"  Yes  —  that  is  the  other  answer." 

"Do  two  positives  make  a  negative?"  asked 
Vanbrugh,  as  their  hands  met. 

"No  —  not  in  mathematics,"  laughed  Dolly,  a 
little  awkwardly,  and  withdrawing  her  fingers  from 
his.  "  Two  negatives  make"  a  positive,  sometimes." 

"A  positive  'no'?"  asked  Vanbrugh,  incredu- 
lously. 

"  Sometimes." 

"  But  we  were  both  saying  4  yes.' " 

"  We  are  both  saying  '  yes,' "  repeated  Dolly 
slowly. 


272  MARION  DABCHE. 

"  Could  we  not  go  a  step  farther  ?  " 

"How?"  Dolly  started  a  little  and  looked  at 
him.  "  I  do  not  understand  —  I  thought  —  " 

"What  did  you  think?" 

"I  do  not  know  what  to  think."     She  hesitated. 

"Will  you  not  let  me  help  you  to  decide?" 
For  the  first  time  in  their  acquaintance,  Vanbrugh's 
voice  grew  tender. 

"I  —  I  am  almost  afraid  —  " 

"Afraid  of  me?" 

"  Of  you  ?  Oh  no,  you  do  not  frighten  me  at  all 
—  but  I  am  just  a  little  — "  again  Dolly  hesitated, 
then  as  though  making  a  great  effort  she  tried  to 
speak  severely.  "  Mr.  Vanbrugh,  you  must  not 
play  with  me  !  " 

"  Miss  Maylands,  you  have  played  with  me  a 
long  time,"  answered  Vanbrugh  softly. 

"  I?  "  » 

"Yes." 

"  Have  I  ?  I  —  I  did  not  mean  to,"  she  added 
thoughtfully. 

"Perhaps  we  have  both  played  in  earnest," 
suggested  Vanbrugh. 

"But  you  play  with  so  many  people  — " 


MARION   DAKCHE.  273 

"With  whom,  for  instance?"  asked  Vanbrugh. 

"With  Marion,  for  instance,"  said  Dolly. 

"  With  Mrs.  Darche  ? "  Vanbrugh's  voice  ex- 
pressed genuine  astonishment.  "  What  an  extraor- 
dinary idea !  As  though  Brett  were  not  my  best 
friend!" 

"What  of  that?" 

"  Oh,  do  not  pretend  you  do  not  understand  — 
especially  to-day,  when  they  are  both  so  unhappy  — 
you  will  do  something  that  will  hurt  them  if  you 
are  not  careful." 

"I  wonder — "  Dolly  did  not  complete  the 
sentence,  but  turned  away  as  though  leaving  it 
to  him.- 

"I  know.  So  you  must  not  talk  of  my  flirting 
with  Mrs.  Darche.  It  is  not  just  to  her  nor  kind 
to  me  —  and  you  do  not  mean  to  be  unkind  to  me, 
do  you?" 

"  To  you  —  of  all  people ! ''  Her  voice  was  very 
gentle. 

"Of  all  people  in  the  world,  dear?" 

"  Yes  —  I  think  so  —  of  all  people."  She  nodded 
slowly,  and  then  looked  up  and  let  her  eyes 
meet  his. 


274  MARION   DABCHE. 

"You  think  so  —  you  are  not  quite  sure?" 
asked  Vanbrugh,  although,  there  was  no  longer 
any  doubt. 

"I  am  always  sure  of  what  I  think."  Dolly 
smiled,  still  looking  at  him. 

"And  this  is  not  play  any  more?  This  is  quite 
earnest  ?  "  « 

"  Quite  —  quite  —  "  While  she  was  speaking 
his  face  was  suddenly  close  to  hers  and  his  lips 
touched  her  cheek.  "  Oh !  —  I  did  not  mean  —  " 

"I  did,"  said  Vanbrugh  emphatically. 

"I  see  you  did,"  answered  Dolly,  blushing 
scarlet. 

"  Will  you  not  see  again  —  "  He  leaned  towards 
her  again. 

"  Oh,  no !  Not  on  any  account ! "  she  cried, 
pushing  him  away  and  laughing.  "  Besides "  — 
the  handle  of  the  door  turned  as  she  was  speak- 
ing — "  there  are  people  coming.  Oh  —  I  can 
feel  it ! "  she  whispered,  rising  precipitately  with 
her  hands  to  her  cheek.  "  But  I  am  so  happy ! " 
she  added,  with  one  more  look  as  she  broke  from 
him. 

Dolly   whispered    the    last   words    as    Mrs.    Wil- 


MARION   DARCHE.  275 

loughby  re-entered  the  room,  and  Vanbrugh  rose 
to  his  feet,  hardly  realising  that  the  crisis  of  his 
life  had  been  reached  with  a  laugh  and  a  kiss, 
but  quite  as  happy  as  Dolly  herself  in  his  thor- 
oughly undemonstrative  way.  Both  were,  perhaps, 
a  little  ashamed  of  themselves  when  they  remem- 
bered Marion  Darche's  trouble,  and  contrasted 
her  anxiety  with  their  own  visions  of  a  sunny 
future ;  and  both  felt  all  at  once  that  they  were 
out  of  place ;  if  they  could  not  be  together  with- 
out a  third  person,  they  wished  to  be  alone. 

"I  do  not  really  believe  that  anything  will 
happen,"  said  Vanbrugh,  speaking  to  Mrs.  Wil- 
loughby.  "I  do  not  believe  either,  that  this  man 
is  Mrs.  Darche's  husband,  for  there  is  every 
reason  to  be  sure  that  John  Darche  was  actually 
drowned.  But  in  case  anything  should  happen, 
pray  send  for  me  at  once.  I  shall  be  at  home 
and  shall  not  go  out  this  evening.  Good-night, 
Miss  Maylands." 

"I  am  going,  too,"  said  Dolly,  rather  suddenly. 
"  Do  you  think,"  she  added,  turning  to  Mrs. 
Willoughby,  "that  it  would  be  very  dreadful  if 
Mr.  Vanbrugh  took  me  as  far  as  the  corner?" 


276  MARION   DAECHE. 

"  What  is  there  dreadful  in  it  ? "  asked  Mrs. 
Willoughby,  who  was  old-fashioned  and  remem- 
bered the  times  when  young  men  used  to  take 
young  girls  to  parties,  and  walked  home  with 
them  unchaperoned. 

"Very  well,  then,  will  you  take  me,  Mr.  Van- 
brugh?  My  maid  has  not  come  yet.  I  only  want 
to  go  to  Mrs.  Trehearne's  and  tell  her  it  is  all 
right  about 'that  lace." 

"  I  shall  be  delighted,"  answered  Vanbrugh,  his 
handsome  face  lighting  up  in  a  way  Dolly  had 
never  seen. 

They  had  not  been  gone  more  than  five  minutes 
when  Brett  rang  at  the  door  again  and  asked  for 
Mrs.  Darche.  Stubbs  looked  at  him  for  a  moment, 
and  then  said  that  he  would  inquire.  Brett 
waited  in  the  library,  by  the  deserted  tea  table, 
for  Cousin  Annie  had  betaken  herself  to  her  own 
room  as  soon  as  Dolly  and  Vanbrugh  left,  and  he 
wondered  who  had  been  there.  It  was  some  time 
before  Marion  appeared. 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you  again,"  she  said,  q.uietly, 
and  holding  out  her  hand.  "  You  went  away  so 
suddenly  —  as  though  you  were  anxious  about 
something." 


MARION   DARCHE.  277 

"I  am." 

"  And  you  have  made  me  anxious,  too.  You 
were  telling  me  that  a  great  and  final  misfortune 
is  hanging  over  my  head.  You  do  not  know  me. 
You  do  not  understand  me.  You  do  not  see  that 
I  would  much  rather  know  what  it  is,  and  face 
it,  than  live  in  terror  of  it  and  trust  altogether 
to  you  to  keep  it  from  me." 

"  But  do  you  not  know  after  all  these  years, 
that  you  can  trust  me?  Do  you  not  trust  me 
now?" 

"  Yes,"  Marion  answered  after  a  pause.  "  As  a 
man,  my  dear  friend,  I  trust  you.  You  do  all 
that  a  man  can  do.  I  can  even  give  you  credit, 
perhaps,  for  being  able  to  do  more  than  you  or 
any  other  man  can  do.  But  there  is  more.  There 
is  something  yet.  Be  as  faithful  as  you  may,  as 
honest  as  God  has  made  you,  and  as  brave  and  as 
strong  as  you  are  —  you  cannot  control  fate.  You 
do  not  believe  in  fate?  I  do.  Well,  call  it  what 
you  please.  Circumstances  arise  which  none  of 
us,  not  the  strongest  of  us,  can  govern.  Whatever 
this  secret  is,  it  means  a  fact,  it  means  that  there 
is  something,  somewhere,  which  might  come  to 


278  MARION   DARCHB. 

my  knowledge,  which  might  make  me  unutterably 
miserable,  which  you  some  day  may  not  be  able 
to  keep  from  me.  Does  it  not?" 

"  Yes,  it  does,"  said  Brett,  slowly.  "  I  cannot 
deny  that.  You  might,  you  may,  come  to  know 
of  it  without  my  telling  you." 

"  Then  tell  me  now,"  said  Marion  earnestly. 
"Is  it  not  far  better  and  far  more  natural  that 
this,  whatever  it  may  be,  should  come  to  me 
directly  from  you,  instead  of  through  some  stranger, 
unawares,  when  I  am  least  prepared  for  it,  when 
I  may  break  down  under  the  shock  of  it?  Do 
you  not  think  that  you,  my  best  friend,  could 
make  it  easier  for  me  to  hear,  if  any  one  could?" 

"  If  any  one  could,  yes,"  answered  Brett  in  a 
low  voice. 

"  And  if  no  one  can,  then  you  at  least  can 
make  it  less  cruel.  Let  me  know  now  when  I 
am  prepared  for  it  by  all  you  have  said — prepared 
to  hear  the  most  dreadful  news  I  can  possibly 
imagine,  something  far  more  dreadful,  I  am  sure, 
than  anything  really  could  be.  Let  me  hear  of 
it  from  you  of  all  other  men." 

"  No,   no,   do   not  ask   me ! "      He   turned    from 


MARION   DARCHE.  279 

her  as  though  he  had  finally  made  up  his  mind. 
"  Of  all  men,  I  should  be  the  last  to  hurt  you. 
And  there  is  no  certainty,  perhaps  not  even  a 
probability,  that  you  should  ever  know  it  if  I  do 
not  tell  you." 

"  Ah,  but  there  is  !  "  she  cried,  insisting.  "  You 
have  said  so.  You  told  me  that  a  moment  ago. 
No  —  you  must  tell  me.  I  will  not  let  you  go 
until  you  do.  I  will  not  leave  anything  unsaid 
that  I  can  say  —  that  a  woman  can  say  —  " 

"No,  no!" 

"Harry,  I  must  know.  I  will  know."  She  laid 
her  hand  upon  his  arm. 

"  For  heaven's  sake ! "  exclaimed  Brett  in  the 
utmost  distress. 

"Harry!  You  loved  me  once  — "  Her  voice 
vibrated  audibly. 

"  Once ! "  Brett  started  violently,  and  turned 
if  possible,  paler. 

"You  made  me  think  so." 

"  Marion,  Marion,  don't ! " 

"I  will.  Do  you  remember,  Harry,  long,  long 
ago  when  we  were  almost  boy  and  girl,  how  you 
promised,  faithfully,  sacredly,  that  if  ever  I  needed 
you,  that  if  ever  I  asked  your  help  — " 


280  MARION   DAKCHE. 

"  And  you  married  John  Darche  instead  of  me," 
said  Brett,  interrupting  her. 

"Yes,  and  I  married  John  Darche,"  answered 
Marion,  gravely. 

"  Because  you  loved  him  and  not  me." 

"  Because  I  thought,  —  no,  I  will  not  go  back 
to  that.  There  is  a  nearer  time  than  that  in  the 
past,  a  day  we  both  remember,  a  day  that  I  am 
ashamed  of,  and  yet  —  well  you  have  not  forgotten 
it  either.  That  morning  —  not  so  many  months 
ago.  It  was  on  that  day  —  that  day  when  my 
husband  was  arrested.  It  was  in  this  very  room. 
You  told  me  that  you  loved  me,  and  I  —  you  know 
what  I  did.  It  was  bad.  It  was  wrong.  Call  it 
what  you  please,  but  it  was  the  truth.  I  let  you 
know  that  I  loved  you  as  well  as  you  loved  me 
and  better,  for  I  had  more  to  lose.  John  was  alive 
then.  -He  is  dead  now  —  long  dead.  If  I  was 
ashamed  then,  I  am  not  ashamed  now  —  for  I  have 
nothing  to  be  ashamed  of.  I  am  showing  whether 
I  trust  you  or  not,  whether  I  believe  in  you,  whether 
I  am  willing  to  stake  my  woman's  pride  on  your 
man's  faithfulness.  I  loved  you  then,  and  I 
showed  you  that  I  did.  Harry!  I  love  you  now 
—  and  I  tell  you  so  without  a  blush." 


MARION  DARCHE.  281 

Brett  trembled  as  though  in  bodily  fear,  glanced 
at  her  and  turned  away. 

"  Great  God ! "  he  exclaimed  under  his  breath. 

"  And  you  —  Harry  —  you  still  —  Harry  —  look 
at  me!  What  is  it?" 

With  wide  and  loving  eyes  she  looked  at  him, 
expecting  every  instant  that  he  would  turn  to  her. 
But  he  did  not  move.  Then  suddenly,  with  a 
low  cry,  as  though  she  were  mortally  hurt,  she 
fell  back  upon  the  sofa. 

"  Oh,  my  God !  you  do  not  love  me ! " 

Her  voice  was  broken  and  weak,  but  he  heard 
the  words.  He  turned  at  last,  looked  at  her,  and 
then  knelt  down  at  her  side. 

"  Marion,  Marion  !  dear ! "  he  whispered  lovingly, 
again  and  again.  But  she  pushed  him  away. 
Then  he  rose  to  his  feet  and  sat  beside  her, 
looking  down  into  her  face.  "Yes,"  he  said 
gravely,  "you  must  know  my  secret  now." 

"Yes,  I  know  your  secret  now,  your  miserable 
secret."  She  turned  her  face  from  him  against 
the  cushion. 

"  No,  you  do  not  know  it,"  he  said.  "  You  do 
not  even  guess  it.  But  I  must  tell  you  now. 


282  MARION  DARCHE. 

Take  care.  Be  strong,  be  brave.  It  will  hurt 
you." 

While  he  was  speaking  Mrs.  Darche  rose  from 
the  sofa  and  her  expression  slowly  changed  as  she 
realised  that  he  had  something  grave  to  tell  her. 
She  rose  slowly,  steadying  herself,  but  not  taking 
her  eyes  from  his  face. 

"Tell  me,  please.     I  am  ready." 

"John  Darche  is  alive,  and  I  have  known  it 
almost  from  the  first." 

It  seemed  to  Brett  that  nothing  he  had  ever 
done  in  his  life  had  been  half  so  hard.  Marion 
stared  at  him  for  a  moment,  and  then  once  more 
sank  slowly  into  her  seat  and  covered  her  face. 

"Do  you  understand  me  now?"  he  asked  after 
a  long  pause.  "Do  you  see  now  why  I  have 
fought  so  hard  against  telling  you  this  thing?" 

"It  is  better  so,"  she  answered  in  a  low  and 
indistinct  tone.  "It  was  better  that  I  should 
know  it  now."  Then  she  was  silent  for  a  long 
time.  "And  is  that  all  you  have  to  tell  me  after 
all  that  I  have  told  you?"  she  asked  at  last,  as 
though  in  a  dream. 

"All?      All,    dear?"      Suddenly    his    resolution 


MARION   DARCHE.  283 

broke  down.  "You  know  it  is  not  all.  I  love 
you  —  that  is  all,  indeed  —  and  more  than  I  have 
the  right  to  say  or  you  to  hear." 

"A  right!  What  is  right?  Where  is  right 
now?" 

"Where  you  are,  dear."  He  was  holding  both 
her  hands  in  his. 

Then  all  at  once  a  light  came  into  her  face. 

"  And  we  can  make  the  rest  right,  too !  Are 
there  no  laws  ?  Is  there  no  justice  ?  If  this  man 
who  has  ruined  both  our  lives  is  not  dead  —  ah ! 
but  he  is  !  I  know  he  is.  What  proof  have  you  ? 
How  can  you  stand  there  and  tell  me  that  I  am 
still  bound  and  tied  to  a  man  whose  very  name  is 
a  stain  on  me,  whose  mere  memory  is  a  disgrace." 

"How  do  I  know?"  repeated  Brett.  "It  is 
simple  enough.  He  has  written  to  me.  I  have 
his  letters.  Do  you  care  to  see  them?  Do  you 
know  what  he  says?  What  he  repeats  when- 
ever Jie  writes?  He  began  a  few  days  after  we 
heard  of  his  supposed  death.  I  know  the  letter 
by  heart.  '  My  dear  Brett  —  I  am  not  dead  at 
all.  I  know  that  you  love  my  wife,  but  I  do  not 
propose  that  you  should  be  happy  at  my  expense. 


284  MARION  DARCHB. 

If  you  try  to  marry  her  I  shall  be  at  the  wedding 
to  forbid  the  banns.'" 

"He  wrote  that?  He  wrote  that  in  his  own 
hand?"  The  strange  emotions  that  were  chasing 
each  other  in  her  heart  found  quick  expression  in 
her  face.. 

"And  he  has  written  it  often.  Would  it  have 
made  you  happier  to  know  it  during  all  these 
months?  Or  could  I  have  looked  you  in  the  face 
as  an  honourable  man  and  told  you  that  I  loved 
you  when  I  alone  knew  that  your  husband  was 
alive?"  He  had  drawn  back  from  her  now  and 
stood  leaning  against  the  mantelpiece  with  folded 
arms. 

"  Oh,  I  see  it  all !  I  see  it  all  now ! "  she  said. 
"  How  brave  you  have  been !  How  good !  And 
now  he  is  coming  back  to  find  some  new  way  of 
hurting  us !  Oh  it  is  too  much !  I  thought  I 
had  borne  all.  But  you  were  right.  There  \v;is 
more  to  bear." 

"  Do  you  know  ?  "  Brett  began  after  a  moment's 
pause.  "  In  spite  of  this  story  that  was  in  the 
papers  to-day  I  find  it  hard  to  believe  that  he  has 
really  come  back.  He  was  quite  capable  of  start- 


MAKION   DARCHE.  285 

ing  the  story  himself  from  a  distance  for  the  sake 
of  giving  you  pain,  but  he  knows  as  well  as  we 
do  that  if  he  comes  here  he  comes  to  serve  his 
time  in  prison." 

Marion  seemed  to  be  trying  to  think  over  the 
situation. 

"  Stop !  "  she  said  at  last.  "  You  know  that  there 
was  a  woman,  too,  though  we  never  spoke  of  her, 
you  and  I.  But  every  one  knew  it.  People  used 
to  pity  me  for  that  before  they  knew  the  rest. 
Do  you  not  think  it  possible  that  she  may  have 
written  those  letters  to  you?" 

"  Oh,  no !  I  know  John  Darche's  handwriting. 
I  have  good  cause  to  know  it." 

"Yes,  I  suppose  you  are  right,"  answered 
Marion  thoughtfully.  "  Did  any  one  man  ever 
accumulate  so  much  wickedness  in  a  lifetime?  He 
was  not  satisfied  with  one  crime.  And  yet  he  was 
not  the  only  bad  man  in  the  world.  What  does 
a  girl  know  of  the  man  she  is  to  marry  ?  She 
sees  him  day  after  day,  of  course,  but  she  only 
sees  the  best  side  of  him.  She  knows  nothing 
of  what  he  doesr  nor  of  what  he  thinks  when 
he  is  not  with  her,  but  she  imagines  it  all,  in 


286  MARION   DAKCHE. 

her  own  way,  with  no  facts  to  guide  her.  Then 
comes  marriage.  How  could  I  know?" 

"  Indeed,  it  would  have  been  hard  for  any 
girl  to  guess  what  sort  of  man  John  Darche 
was." 

"Please   do   not    talk   about  that." 

"And  how  do  you  know  that  I  am  any  better 
man  than  John  Darche  ? "  asked  Brett,  suddenly. 
"What  do  you  know  of  my  comings  and  goings 
when  I  am  not  here,  or  how  I  spend  my  time? 
How  do  you  know  that  I  am  not  bound  by 
some  disgraceful  tie,  as  he  was  ?  I  have  been 
in  •  all  sorts  of  places  since  we  said  good-bye 
on  that  winter's  evening.  Do  you  remember?  I 
have  wandered  and  worked,  and  done  ever 
so  many  things  since  then.  How  do  you  know 
that  there  is  not  some  woman  in  my  life  whom 
I  cannot  get  rid  of  ?  " 

He  had  not  changed  his  position  while  speak- 
ing. When  he  paused  for  her  answer  she  went 
up  to  him,  laying  her  hands  upon  his  shoulders 
and  looking  into  his  face. 

"  Harry !  is  there   any   other  ?  " 

"  No,  dear."  But  his  eyes  answered  before  he 
spoke. 


MARION  DARCHE.  287 

"I  knew  it.  You  have  answered  your  own 
question.  That  is  all." 

"  Thank  you."  As  she  drew  back  he  caught 
her  hand  and  held  it,  and  his  words  came  fast 
and  passionately.  "  No.  That  is  not  all.  That 
is  not  half.  That  is  not  one-thousandth  part 
of  what  I  ought  to  say.  I  know  it.  Thank 
you?  My  whole  life  is  not  enough  to  thank  you 
with.  All  the  words  I  ever  heard  or  know  are 
not  enough  —  the  best  of  words  mean  so  little. 
And  they  never  do  come  to  me  when  I  want 
them.  But  those  little  words  of  yours  are  more 
to  me  than  all  the  world  beside.  I  do  thank 
you  with  all  my  strength,  with  all  my  heart, 
with  all  my  soul,  and  I  will  live  for  you 
with  all  three.  Why  should  I  say  it?  You 
know  it  all,  dear,  much  better  than  it  can  be 
said,  for  you  believe  in  me.  But  it  is  good 
to  say — I  wish  it  could  have  been  half  as  good 
to  hear." 

She  had  listened  to  each  word  and  looked  for 
each  passing  expression  while  he  spoke.  She 
looked  one  moment  longer  after  he  had  finished, 
and  then  turned  quietly  away. 


288  MARION   DARCHE. 

"It  is  good  to  hear  —  if  you  only  knew  how 
good ! "  she  said  softly.  "  And  words  are  not 
always  empty.  When  they  come  from  the  heart, 
as  ours  do,  they  bring  up  gold  with  them — and 
things  better  than  gold." 


CHAPTER   XII. 

A  LONG  silence  followed.  Neither  of  them,  per- 
haps, realised  exactly  what  had  passed,  or  if  they 
did,  actual  facts  seemed  very  far  away  from  their 
dreamland.  Marion  was  the  first  to  feel  again 
the  horror  of  the  situation,  tenfold  worse  than 
before  he  had  last  spoken. 

"  Oh,  I  cannot  bear  it !  "  she  said  suddenly.  "  I 
cannot  bear  it  now  —  as  I  could.  Really  alive, 
after  all — and  this  story  to-day?  Have  you  found 
out  nothing?  Have  you  nothing  more  to  tell  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,  there  is  something  to  tell  you." 

"What?" 

"Bad  news." 

"Bad?     Worse  than  —  " 

"I  am  afraid  so,"  answered  Brett. 

"You  have  told  me  that  he  is  alive."  She  laid 
her  hand  upon  his  arm.  "Do  not  tell  me  that 
he  is  here  !  You  said  you  could  not  believe  it !  " 

"  If  I  do  not,  it  is  only  because  I  have  not  seen 

21 —Vol.  9  289 


290  MARION   DARCHE. 

him  with  my  own  eyes.  I  did  not  mean  to  tell 
you  —  until  —  "  he  stopped. 

"  Tell  me !  "  cried  Marion.  "  Tell  me  everything 
quickly !  If  you  tell  me  —  I  can  bear  it,  if  you 
tell  me  —  but  not  from  any  one  else.  Where  is 
he  ?  When  did  he  come  ?  Is  he  arrested  again  ? 
Is  he  in  prison  ?  " 

"No,  not  yet.  He  is  in  a  sailors'  lodging-house 
—  if  it  is  he." 

"  How  do  you  know  it?  Oh,  how  can  you  be 
so  sure,  if  you  have  not  seen  him  ?  " 

"  None  of  us  have  seen  him,"  answered  Brett, 
barely  able  to  speak  at  all.  "  Vanbrugh  and 
Brown  —  they  went  to  find  him  —  I  found  Brown 
in  Mulberry  Street,  waiting  for  news  —  you  know 
the  Police  Headquarters  are  there.  Vanburgh  had 
left  him  —  then  I  came  up  town  again  —  to  you." 

"  Russell  Vanbrugh  has  been  here,"  said  Marion, 
trying  to  collect  her  thoughts.  "He  told  Cousin 
Annie  to  give  strict  orders  about  reporters." 

"He  was  afraid  that  Darche  might  come  to  try 
and  get  money  from  you  —  " 

"  Money  !  I  would  give  —  God  knows  what  I 
would  give." 


MARION   DARCHE.  291 

"  I  do  not  believe  he  will  come,"  said  Brett, 
assuming  a  confidence  he  did  not  feel.  "  He 
must  know  that  the  house  is  watched  already." 

Marion's  expression  changed.  Her  face  turned 
paler.  The  lines  deepened  and  her  eyes  grew 
dark.  She  had  made  a  desperate  resolution. 
She  took  Brett's  hand  and  looked  at  him  in 
silence  for  a  moment. 

"  Good-bye  —  dear,"  she  said. 

She  would  have  withdrawn  her  hand,  but  Brett 
grasped  it  and  pressed  it  almost  roughly  to  his  lips. 

"  Good-bye,"  she  said  again. 

It  was  almost  too  much  to  ask  of  any  man. 
Brett  held  her  hand  fast. 

"  No  —  not  good-bye,"  he  answered  with  rising 
passion.  "  It  is  not  possible.  It  cannot  be,  Marion 
—  do  not  say  it." 

"I  must  —  you  must." 

"No  —  no  —  no!"  he  repeated.  "It  cannot  be 
good-bye.  Remember  what  you  said.  Is  this  man 
who  was  dead  to  you  and  to  all  the  world,  if 
not  to  me,  to  ruin  both  our  lives?  Are  we  to 
bow  our  heads  and  submit  patiently  to  such  a  fate 
as  that?  If  I  had  told  you  long  ago  that  he 


292  MAKION   DARCHB. 

was   alive,   as   I    alone    knew  he   was,   would   you 
not  have    done   your    best    to  free    yourself  from 
such   a   tie,    from    a   man  —  you  said  it  yourself - 
whose    very    name    is    a    stain,   and    whose    mere 
memory  is  a  disgrace?" 

"No,"  answered  Marion  resolutely,  and  with- 
drawing her  hands.  "I  mean  it.  This  is  our 
good-bye,  and  this  must  be  all,  quite  all.  Do  you 
think  I  would  ever  accept  such  a  position  as  that? 
That  I  could  ever  feel  as  though  the  stain  were 
wiped  out  and  the  disgrace  forgotten  by  such  a 
poor  formality  as  a  divorce  ?  No !  Let  me  speak ! 
Do  not  interrupt  me  yet.  If  I  had  known  six 
months  ago  that  John  was  still  alive,  I  would 
have  done  it,  and  I  should  have  felt  perhaps,  that 
it  meant  something,  that  I  was  really  free,  that 
the  world  would  forget  the  worst  part  of  my 
story,  and  that  I  could  come  to  you  as  myself,  not 
as  the  wife  of  John  Darche,  forger  and  escaped 
convict.  But  I  cannot  do  it  now.  It  is  too  late, 
now  that  he  has  come  back.  ^No  power  on  earth 
can  detach  his  past  from  my  present,  nor  clear  me 
of  his  name.  And  do  you  think  that  I  would 
hang  such  a  weight  as  that  about  your  neck?" 


MARION  DARCHE.  293 

"  But  you  are  wrong,"  answered  Brett,  earnestly. 
"  Altogether  wrong.  The  life  you  have  lived  dur- 
ing these  last  months  has  proved  that.  Have 
you  ever  heard  that  any  one  in  all  the  world  you 
know  has  —  I  will  not  say  dared  —  has  even  thought 
of  visiting  on  you  the  smallest  particle  of  your 
husband's  guilt  ?  Oh,  no !  They  say  the  world 
is  unkind,  but  it  is  just  in  the  long  run." 

"No.     People  have  been  kind  to  me  —  " 

"No.     Just,  not  kind." 

"  Well,  call  it  what  you  will,"  Marion  answered, 
speaking  in  a  dull  tone  which  had  no  resonance. 
"People  have  overlooked  my  name  and  liked  me 
for  myself.  But  it  is  different  now.  A  few  good 
friends  may  still  come,  the  nearest  and  dearest 
may  stand  by  me,  but  the  world  will  not  accept 
without  a  murmur  the  man  who  has  married  the 
divorced  wife  of  a  convict.  The  world  will  do 
much,  but  it  will  not  do  that.  And  so  I  say 
good-bye  again,"  she  continued  after  a  little  pause, 
"once  more  this  last  time,  for  I  will  not  hamper 
you,  I  will  not  be  a  load  upon  you.  I  will  not 
live  to  give  you  children  who  may  reproach  you 
for  their  mother's  sake.  We  shall  be  what  we 
Were  —  friends.  But,-  for  the  rest  —  good-bye  !  " 


294  MARION   DARCHE. 

"  Marion  I     Do  not  say  such  things !  " 

"  I  will,  and  I  must  say  them  now,  for  I  will 
not  give  myself  another  chance,"  she  answered 
with  unmoved  determination.  "  What  has  been, 
has  been,  and  cannot  be  undone.  I  did  wrong 
months  ago  on  that  dreadful  morning,  when  I  let 
you  guess  that  I  might  love  you.  I  did  wrong 
on  that  same  day,  when  I  prayed  you  for  my 
sake  to  help  John  to  escape,  when  I  made  use 
of  your  love  for  me,  to  make  you  do  the  one 
dishonourable  action  of  your  life.  I  have  suffered 
for  it.  Better,  far  better,  that  my  husband 
should  have  gone  then  and  submitted  to  his 
sentence,  than  that  I  should  have  helped  him 
—  made  you  help  me  — " 

"At  the  risk  of  your  own  life,"  said  Brett, 
interrupting  her. 

"  There  was  no  risk  at  all,  with  you  all  there 
to  help  me,  and  I  knew  it." 

"  There  was,"  said  Brett,  insisting.  "  You 
might  have  burned  to  death.  And  as  for  what 
I  did,  I  hardly  knew  that  I  was  doing  it.  I  saw 
that  you  were  really  on  fire  and  I  ran  to  help 
you.  No  one  ever  thought  of  holding  me  respon- 


MARION   DARCHE.  295 

sible  for  what  happened  when  my  back  was 
turned.  But  I  would  have  done  more,  and  you 
know  I  would.  And  now  you  talk  of  injuring 
me,  if  you  divorce  that  man  and  let  me  take 
your  life  into  mine !  This  is  folly,  Marion, 
this  is  downright  madness  !  " 

Marion  looked  at  him  in  silence  for  a  moment. 

"Harry,  would  you  do  it  in  my  place?"  she 
asked  suddenly. 

"What?" 

"If  your  wife  had  forged,  had  been  convicted, 
and  sentenced,  and  you  had  the  public  disgrace 
of  it  to  bear,  'would  you  wish  to  give  me  your 
name  ?  " 

Brett  opened  his  lips  to  speak,  and  then 
checked  himself  and  turned  away. 

"  You  see ! "  she  exclaimed,  still  watching  him. 

"  No,  that  would  be  •  different,"  he  said  at  last 
in  a  low  voice. 

"Why  different?  I  see  no  difference  at  all. 
Of  course  you  must  say  so,  any  man  would  in 
your  place.  But  that  does  not  make  it  a  fact. 
You  would  rather  cut  off  your  right  hand  than 
ask  me  to  marry  you  with  such  a  stain  on  your 


296  MARION   DARCHB. 

good  name.  You  can  have  nothing  to  answer 
to  that,  for  it  is  hard  logic  and  you  know 
it." 

"Call  it  logic,  if  you  will,"  he  answered 
coming  up  to  her.  "It  does  not  convince  me. 
And  I  will  tell  you  more.  I  will  not  yield.  I 
would  not  be  persuaded  if  I  knew  that  I  could 
be,  for  I  will  convince  you,  I  will  persuade 
you  that  the  real  wrong  and  the  only  wrong  is 
whatever  parts  a  man  and  a  woman  who  love 
as  we  love ;  who  are  ready,  as  you  know  we 
are  ready,  to  give  all  that  man  and  woman  can, 
each  for  the  other,  and  who  will  give  it,  each  to 
the  other,  in  spite  of  everything,  as  I  will  give 
you  my  life  and  my  name  and  everything  I 
have  before  I  die,  whether  you  will  have  it  or 
not ! " 

"  If  I  say  that  I  will  *  not  accept  such  a  sacri- 
fice, what  then?" 

"You  will  accept  it,"  said  Brett  in  a  tone  of 
authority. 

"  Ah,  but  I  will  not !  Harry  !  "  cried  Marion, 
with  a  sudden  change  of  voice,  "I  know  that  all 
you  say  is  true.  I  know  how  generous  you  are, 


MARION   DARCHE.  297 

that  you  would  really  do  all  you  say  you  would. 
I  need  not  say  that  I  thank  you.  That  would 
mean  too  little.  But  I  will  not  take  from  you 
one-thousandth  part  of  what  you  offer.  I  will 
not  taint  your  life  with  mine.  You  could  not 
answer  my  question.  You  could  not  deny  what  I 
said  —  that  if  you  were  in  my  place,  you  would 
suffer  anything  rather  than  ask  me  to  marry 
you.  I  know  —  you  say  it  is  different  —  but  it  is 
not.  Disgrace  is  just  as  real  from  woman  to  man 
as  from  man  to  woman,  and  you  shall  not  have  it 
from  me  nor  through  me.  That  is  why  I  say 
good-bye.  That  is  why  you  must  say  it  too  — 
for  my  sake." 

"For  your  sake?"' 

"  Yes,"  she  answered.  "  Do  you  think .  that  I 
could  ever  be  happy  again?  Do  you  not  see  that 
if  I  married  you  now,  I  should  be  haunted 
through  every  minute  of  my  life  by  the  bitter 
presence  of  the  wrong  done  you?  Do  you  not 
know  what  I  should  feel  if  people  looked  askance 
at  you,  and  grew  cold  in  their  acquaintance,  and 
smiled  to  each  other  when  you  went  by?  Do 
you  think  that  would  be  easy  to  bear?  Yes,  it  is 


298  MARION    DARCHE. 

good-bye  for  my  sake,  as  well  as  yours.  Not 
lightly  —  you  know  it.  It  means  good-bye  to  love, 
and  hope,  and  if  I  live,  it  means  the  loss  of 
freedom,  too,  when  John  Darche  is  released  from 
prison." 

"  What !  "  cried  Brett.  "  Do  you  mean  to  say 
that  you  would  ever  let  him  come  back  to 
you?" 

"  I  mean  that  I  will  not  be  divorced.  And  he 
would  come  back  to  me  —  he  will  come  back  for 
help,  and  I  must  give  it  to  him  when  he  does." 

"  Receive  that  man  .  under  your  roof ! "  He 
could  not  believe  that  she  was  in  earnest. 

"Yes.  Since  he  is  alive  he  is  still  my 
husband.  When  he  comes  back  after  undergoing 
his  sentence  I  shall  have  to  receive  him." 

"  When  you  know  that  you  could  have  a 
divorce  for  the  asking?" 

"Which  I  would  refuse  if  it  were  thrust  upon 
me,"  she  answered  firmly. 

•"  That   would   be   mad   indeed.     What   can   that 
possibly  have  to  do  with  me  ? " 

"  This,"  she  said.  "  We  are  speaking  this  last 
time.  I  will  not  be  divorced  from  him;  do  you 


MARION   DAKCHE.  299 

know  why?  Because  if  I  were  —  if  I  were  free 
—  I  should  be  weak,  and  marry  you.  Do  you 
understand  now?  Try  and  understand  me,  for  I 
shall  not  say  it  again  —  it  is  too  hard  to  say." 

"Not  so  hard  as  it  is  to  believe." 

"But  you  will  try,  will  you  not?" 

"No." 

The  monosyllable  had  scarcely  escaped  from 
his  lips,  short,  energetic  and  determined,  when  he 
was  interrupted  by  Stubbs,  who  seemed  destined 
to  appear  at  inopportune  moments  on  that  day. 
He  was  evidently  much  excited,  and  he  stood 
stock  still  by  the  door.  At  the  same  time  there 
was  a  noise  outside,  of  many  feet  and  of  subdued 
voices.  Stubbs  made  desperate  gestures. 

"Mr.  Brett,  sir!  Will  you  please  come  out- 
side, sir ! "  He  was  hardly  able  to  make  himself 
understood. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  asked  Marion,  severely. 

"  I  cannot  help  it,  sir !  Indeed  I  cannot, 
Madam ! "  protested  the  distressed  butler. 

Brett  understood. 

"There  is  trouble,"  he  said  quickly  to  Marion, 
holding  out  his  hands  as  though  he  wished  to 


300  MARION   DAECHE. 

protect  her,  and  touching  her  gently.  "Please  go 
away.  Leave  me  here." 

"Trouble?"     She  was  not  inclined  to  yield. 

"  Yes.  It  must  be  he  —  if  you  have  to  see  him, 
this  is  not  the  place." 

"But  —  " 

With  his  hands,  very  tenderly,  he  pushed  her 
toward  the  door  at  the  other  end  of  the  room, 
the  same  through  which  John  Darche  had  once 
escaped.  She  resisted  for  a  moment  —  then  with- 
out a  word  she  obeyed  his  word  and  touch  and 
went  out,  covering  her  eyes  with  her  hand. 

"Now  then,  what  is  it?"  asked  Brett,  turning 
sharply  around  as  he  closed  the  door. 

"  I  could  not  help  it,  sir ! "  Stubbs  repeated. 
"  There  is  a  man  in  the  hall  as  says  he  is  Mr. 
John  —  leastwise  he  says  his  name  is  John  Darche, 
though  he  has  got  a  beard,  sir,  which  Mr.  John 
never  had,  as  you  may  remember,  sir,  and  there 
is  a  lot  of ,  policemen  in  plain  clothes  and  other- 
wise, and  Mr.  Brown  says  they  are  pressmen,  and 
the  driver  of  the  cab,  and  Michael  Curly,  and  the 
expressman  —  " 

"  What  do  all  these  people  want? "  inquired 
Brett,  sternly.  "Turn  them  out." 


MARION  DARCHE.  301 

"  It  is  a  fact,  sir,  just  as  I  tell  you  —  and  so 
help  me  the  powers,  sir,  here  they  are  coming  in 
and  I  cannot  keep  them  out — I  cannot,  not  if  I 
was  a  dozen  Stubbses !  " 

Before  he  had  finished  speaking,  a  number  of 
men  had  pushed  past  him  into  the  room,  led 
by  Mr.  Brown,  very  much  out  of  breath  and 
trying  his  best  to  control  the  storm  he  had 
raised. 

"What  is  this  disturbance,  Brown?"  asked 
Brett  angrily.  "Who  are^these  people?" 

"  It  is  the  man,  Brett ! "  cried  Mr.  Brown 
triumphantly,  and  pushing  forward  a  burly  and 
bearded  individual  in  a  shabby  "guernsey"  with 
a  black  rag  tied  in  a  knot  round  his  neck.  "Now 
just  look  at  him,  and  tell  me  whether  he  has  the 
slightest  resemblance  to  John  Darche." 

"  He  is  no  more  John  Darche  than  I  am ! 
•Take  him  away !  " 

"  Out  with  you ! "  cried  Stubbs,  only  too  anxious 
to  enforce  the  order. 

"  He  said  he  was  John  Darche,"  said  one  of  the 
men  from  Mulberry  Street. 

The   man   refused   to    be   turned   out    by   Stubbs 


302  MARION   DARCHE. 

and  stood  his  ground,  evidently  anxious  to  clear 
himself.  He  was  an  honest-looking  fellow  enough, 
and  there  was  a  twinkle  in  his  bright  blue  eyes 
as  though  he  were  by  no  means  scared,  but  rather 
enjoyed  the  hubbub  his  presence  created. 

"No,  sir,"  he  said  in  a  healthy  voice  that 
dominated  the  rest.  "I  am  no  more  John  Darche 
than  you  are,  sir,  unless  that  happens  to  be  your 
name,  which  I  ask  your  pardon  if  it  is.  But  I 
said  I  was,  and  so  the  bobbies  brought  me  along. 
But  this  gentleman  here,  he  showed  me  the 
papers,  that  there  was  trouble  about  John  Darche, 
so  I  just  let  them  bring  me,  which  I  had  no  call 
to  do,  barring  I  liked,  being  a  sailor  man  and 
quick  on  my  feet." 

"  Well  then,  who  are  you  ?  "  asked  Brett.  "  And 
where  is  John  Darche?" 

"John  Darche  is  dead,  sir,  and  I  buried  him 
on  the  Patagonian  shore." 

'"Dead?"  cried  Brett.  The  colour  rushed  to 
his  face,  and  for  a  moment  the  room  swam  with 
him.  "  Can  you  prove  that,  my  man  ?  " 

"Well,  sir,  I  say  he  is  deafl,  because  I  saw  him 
die  and  buried  him  —  just  so,  as  I  was  telling  you." 


MARION   DABCHE.  303 

This  was  more  than  Stubbs  could  bear  in  his 
present  humour. 

"Dead,  is  he?  Mr.  John's  dead,  is  he?  This 
man  says  he  is  dead,  and  he  conies  here  saying  as 
he  is  him." 

"Be  quiet,  Stubbs,"  said  Brett.  "Tell  your 
story,  my  man,  and  be  quick  about  it,"  he  added. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  the  man,  taking  his  hands  from 
his  pockets,  and  standing  squarely  before  Brett. 
"  That  is  what  I  came  to  do  if  these  sons  of  guns 
will  let  me  talk.  John  Darche  was  working  his 
passage  as  cook,  sir,  and  we  was  wrecked  down 
Magellan  way,  and  some  was  drowned,  poor 
fellows,  and  some  was  taken  off,  worse  luck  for 
us.  But  I  said  I  would  stick  to  the  ship  if 
Darche  would,  and  we  should  get  salvage  money. 
We  had  not  much  of  a  name  to  lose,  either  of  us, 
so  we  tried  it,  but  the  cook  was  not  much  to  boast 
of  for  a  sailor  man,  and  we  could  not  bring  her 
through,  and  she  went  to  pieces  on  the  Patagonian 
shore.  The  cook,  that  was  John  Darche,  he  caught 
his  death,  what  with  too  much  salt  water,  and 
too  little  to  eat,  and  died  two  days  after  we  got 
ashore.  So  I  buried  him.  And  seeing  as  my 


304  MARION   DARCHE. 

own  name,  wan't  of  much  use  to  me,  being  well 
known  about  those  parts  for  a  trifle  of  braining 
a  South  American  devil  in  Buenos  Ayres,  I  took 
his,  which  wan't  no  more  use  to  him  neither,  and 
somehow  or  other  I  got  here,  by  the  help  of 
Almighty  God  and  an  Eyetalian  captain,  and 
working  my  passage  and  eating  their  blooming 
boiled  paste.  And  I  soon  found  out  what  sort  of 
a  name  I  had  taken  from  my  dead  mate,  for  he 
seems  to  have  been  pretty  well  known  to  these 
here  gentlemen.  But  I  daresay  as  you  can  swear, 
sir,  that  I  ain't  John  Darche  as  you  knew,  and 
maybe  as  I  ain't  wanted  on  my  own  account,  these 
gentlemen  will  come  and  have  a  drink  with  me 
and  call  quits." 

"  Have  you  got  anything  to  prove  this  story  ? " 
Brett  asked,  when  the  man  had  finished. 

"  Well,  sir,  there's  myself  to  prove  it,"  said  the 
sailor.  "I  don't  know  that  I  should  care  for 
more  proof.  And  there's  my  dead  mate's  watch, 
too.  He  had  a  watch,  he  had.  He  was  a  regular 
swell  though  he  was  working  his  passage  as  cook. 
But  I  had  to  leave  it  with  my  uncle  this  morning." 

Brett  drew  a  long  breath  and  clasped  his  hands 
nervously  together. 


MARION  DARCHE.  305 

"I  suppose  you  can  set  this  man  at  liberty, 
upon  my  declaration  that  he  .  is  not  John  Darche, 
and  after  hearing  his  story,"  he  said,  turning  to 
the  police  officer  who  stood  near  the  sailor. 

"  Oh  yes,  sir,"  answered  the  latter.  "  I  guess 
that  will  be  all  right.  If  not,  we'll  make  it  right 
in  five  minutes." 

"Well  then,  I  must  ask  you  to  go  away  for 
the  present  —  and  as  quickly  as  possible.  Take 
that  with  you,  my  man,  and  come  and  see  me 
to-morrow  morning.  My  name  is  Brett.  The 
butler  will  write  my  address  for  you." 

"  I  don't  want  your  money,  sir,"  said  the  sailor. 

"  Oh  yes,  you  do,"  answered  Brett,  with  a  good- 
humoured  smile.  "Go  and  get  your  watch  out 
of  pawn  and  bring  it  with  you." 

"Very  well,  sir,"  said  the  sailor. 

As  they  were  going  out,  it  struck  Brett  that 
he  perhaps  owed  something  to  Mr.  Brown  who, 
after  all,  had  taken  a  great  deal  of  trouble  in  the 
matter. 

"Mrs.  Darche  will  be  very  much  obliged  to 
you,  Brown,"  he  said.  "  But  I  am  not  sure  that 
the  matter  is  ended.  It  would  be  awfully  good 


306  MARION   DARCHE. 

of  you  to  put  the  thing  through,  while  I  break 
the  news  to  Mrs.  Darche.  Could  you  not  go 
along  with  them  and  see  that  the  man  is  really 
set  at  liberty  ?  " 

Mr.  Brown  was  a  good-natured  man,  and  was 
quite  ready  to  do  all  that  was  asked  of  him. 
Brett  thanked  him  once  more,  and  he  left  the 
house  with  the  rest. 

When  they  were  all  gone,  Stubbs  came  back, 
evidently  very  much  relieved  at  the  turn  matters 
had  taken. 

"  Please  go  into  the  drawing-room,"  said  Brett, 
"  and  ask  Mrs.  Darche  to  come  here  one  moment, 
if  she  can  speak  to  me  alone,  and  keep  every  one 
else  out  of  the  room.  You  understand,  Stubbs." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  answered  the  butler.  "  But  it  is 
the  Lord's  own  mercy,  sir,  especially  the  watch." 
He  left  the  room  in  search  of  Mrs.  Darche. 

Scarcely  a  moment  elapsed  before  she  entered 
the  room. 

"  Stubbs  said  you  wanted  to  see  me,"  she  said 
in  a  voice  that  shook  with  anxiety. 

Brett  came  forward  to  meet  her,  and  standing 
quite  close  to  her,  looked  into  her  eyes. 


MARION   DARCHE.  307 

"  Something  very  strange  has  happened,"  he 
said,  with  a  little  hesitation.  "  Something  — 
something  very,  very  good  —  can  you  bear  the 
shock  of  a  great  happiness,  dear  ?  " 

"  Happiness,"  she  repeated.'  "  What  is  it  ?  Oh, 
yes ! "  she  exclaimed,  suddenly  understanding. 
"  Oh !  thank  God,  I  see  it  in  your  eyes !  It  is 
not  true  ?  He  is  not  here  ?  —  oh,  Harry ! " 

"Yes.  That  is  it.  The  whole  story  was  only  a 
fabrication.  He  is  not  here.  You  see  I  cannot  let 
you  wait  a  moment  for  the  good  news.  It  is  so 
good.  So  much  better  even  than  I  have  told  you." 

"  Better ! "  she  cried  as  the  colour  rose  to  her 
pale  cheeks.  "What  could  be  better?  Oh,  it  is 
life,  it  is  freedom  —  it  is  almost  more  than  I  can 
bear  after  ,this  dreadful  day  !  " 

"But  you  must  bear  more,"  said   Brett,  smiling. 

"  More  pain  ? "  she  asked  with  a  little  start. 
"Something  else?" 

"No.     More  happiness." 

"  Ah,  no  !     There  is  no  more  ! " 

"Yes  there  is.  Listen.  There  is  a  reason  why 
the  story  could  not  be  true,  why  it  is  absolutely 
impossible  that  it  should  be  true." 


308  MARION   DARCHB. 

"Impossible?"     She  looked  up  suddenly.     "Yous 
cannot  say  that." 

"  Yes  I  can,"  he  answered.  "  We  have  seen 
the  last  of  John  Darche.  He  will  never  come 
back." 

"Never?"  cried  Marion.  "Never  at  all?  What 
do  you  mean?" 

"Never,  in  this  world,"  Brett  answered  gravely. 

She  seized  his  arm  with  sudden  energy  and 
looked  into  his  face. 

"What?  No  —  it  cannot  be  true!  Oh,  do  not 
deceive  me,  for  the  love  of  Heaven ! " 

"John  Darche  is  dead." 

"  Dead ! "  In  the  pause  that  followed,  she 
pressed  her  hand  to  her  side  as  though  she 
could  not  draw  breath. 

"  Oh !  no  !  no  —  it  cannot  be  true.  It  is  another 
story.  Oh,  why  did  you  tell  me?" 

"  It  is  true.  The  man  who  was  with  him 
when  he  died  was  here  a  moment  ago." 

"  Ah,  you  were  right,"  she  said  faintly.  "  It  is 
almost  too  much." 

Brett's  arm  went  round  her  and  drew  her 
towards  him. 


MARION   DARCHE.  309 

"No,"  he  answered,  speaking  gently  in  her 
ear,  "not  too  much  for  you  and  me  to  bear 
together.  Think  of  all  that  has  died  with  him 

—  think  of  all  the   horror  and  misery  and  danger 
and    fear    that    he    has,  taken    out    of    the   world 
with    him.     Think     that     there    is     nothing     now 
between  you  and   me.     Nothing  —  not   the  shadow 
of  a  nothing.      That   our   lives  are  our   own  now, 
and    each    the    other's,    yours    mine,    mine    yours, 
forever   and    always.      Ah,    Marion,    dear,    is    that 
too  much  to  bear?" 

"  Almost,"  she  said  as  her  head  sank  upon 
his  shoulder.  "  Ah,  God !  that  hell  and  heaven 
should  be  so  near." 

"  And  such  a  heaven  !  Love  !  Darling  !  Sweet- 
heart !  Look  at  me  !  " 

"  Harry ! "     She   opened   her   eyes.     "  Love  !     No 

—  find  me  other  words  for  all  you  are  to  me." 
She    drew  his    face    down    to    hers    and    their 

lips  met. 

THE  END. 


C/JLE*  / 


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